


The Second-Placers

by DesperatelyObsessional



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, CEO AU, Everyone is driven by the power of spite, Fluff, Happy Ending, I literally live for PA Yakov, Like snaps for all of Phichit's attempts, Like... Everyone, M/M, Otabek is a bae, Phichit tries so hard man, Seung-Gil - Freeform, The coaches are PA's, Viktor and Yuuri are kinda the bad guys in this, Who is literally goals, Whoa, Yurio is a genius, cuz why not, driven, except maybe Min-So, gays, is a total hoe, that's the plot, you have no idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesperatelyObsessional/pseuds/DesperatelyObsessional
Summary: "But, um, be honest. How much of this meeting was about making a business deal?" Phichit asked with a wary smile.The immediate response in Seung-Gil's head was a scathing 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝐻𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡, but he swallowed the number down."Twenty-five percent?" Seung-Gil offered sheepishly, "I mean, I couldn't not think about it. You're a very powerful man."Phichit giggled, flashing a flattered smile, "And the rest of it?""Well," Seung-Gil smiled, purposely tilting his head to accentuate his cheekbones, "I can't deny that I wanted to know you better. You're far too handsome. Your smile makes my heart flutter, Phichit."Phichit giggled, covering his face, "You're flattering me."Seung-Gil smirked, "Good, that's the goal."--A CEO AU where Phichit and Seung-Gil go into business together. Phichit is super thirsty and Seung-Gil is emotionally constipated, but it works out in the end.





	1. Killer Abs

**Author's Note:**

> When I'm back again with my love of obscure ships and my inability to just write a fandom favorite ship. There's something wrong with me y'all. I'm a fucking fandom hipster or some shit. Help.
> 
> Anyways, this is going to be Phichit/Seung-Gil centric.
> 
> I'm not in business, so like, I'm calling artistic license for literally this entire fic.
> 
> Let me know what you think?? I'm pretty sure I know where I'm going with this fic, but like any feedback is appreciated and coveted with an almost concerning amount of fervor.
> 
> Okay so real quick:
> 
> Viktor CEO of History Maker Tech.  
> Yuuri CEO of Yutopia Pharma  
> Phichit CEO of ChuChu Contraptions  
> Seung-Gil CEO Axel Pharma   
> Yuri, Project Director, Lead Scientist at ChuChu Contraptions  
> Otabek, Project Director, Lead Scientist at Axel Pharma.
> 
> Just so everyone's on the same page. Okay, I've rambled enough, here we go:

With a tight smile, Seung-Gil clapped along with the crowd as the Katsuki-Nikiforov idiots cut the ribbon for their skyscraper.

It was the opening of the new Katsuki-Nikiforov building, well, buildings. Two sleek, gunmetal grey skyscrapers stood on opposite sides of the street, with several hallways stretching over the road to the opposite building, dozens of floors above the ground. They were so hopelessly co-dependent that even their damn offices couldn’t be separate.

It was pathetic.

But tonight wasn’t only the opening of their new buildings, it was also a celebration of their undeniable success. The dynamic duo of History Maker Inc. and Yutopia Pharmaceuticals had released a ground-breaking genetic supercomputer.

The Agape could not only read a genome in _half_ the regular time but it could scan for hundreds of thousands of genetic mutations in that time, process the information, and provide a patient of an entire list of illnesses they were susceptible to with their correlating likelihood. Plus, an added bonus of the machine was that it was user-friendly enough to go to hospitals across the country instead of just residing in large, processing labs.

It had nearly doubled the worth of Katsuki’s stocks.

Seung-Gil was pissed, to say the very least.

Jealously was burning in his chest; no, not jealousy- Seung-Gil didn’t desire _their_ success; he wanted his own. Perhaps greed was a better term. A spurned version of gluttony bubbling in his chest, demanding he achieve this for himself.

And Seung-Gil could, if he could actually get some legitimate work done, instead of kissing asses at a worthless charity gala thrown for no other reason than to celebrate two idiots who were more _lucky_ than talented.

_That was rude, wasn’t it? Perhaps I shouldn’t say that to their faces._

The CEO knew that it would be in poor taste to be pointedly rude to his direct competitors, especially when his direct competitor was the CEO of Yutopia Pharmaceuticals, a literal corporate _monster_ ; the last thing he needed was for Katsuki to purposefully single him out and swallow him whole.

Though it’s not like Katsuki would be the one doing the swallowing anyway.

_Nikiforov pulls all of that idiot’s weight. Anyone would have doubled their annual profits if they were Nikiforov’s charity project._

Seung-Gil knew the tenseness in his shoulders wasn’t overly noticeable, so he allowed it to stay, letting it stiffen his posture and straighten his already meager smile.

Min-So, his personal assistant, clucked her tongue in response, whispering through her teeth, “Smile. The last thing we need is your frown becoming a meme.”

Seung-Gil stared straight ahead, pretending to listen to Katsuki’s overly emotional speech as he replied, “ _Please_. This is a charity dinner held by a pharmaceutical company. No one cares about this, much less anyone who isn’t the happy couple.”

She sighed but didn’t disagree, knowing he was right.

Both the Koreans stood stock still throughout the rest of the proceedings, making an imposing pair.

Seung-Gil wore a simple black on black on black Armani suit; clean, sharp lines emphasized his slim waist and athletic frame. His expensive cufflinks, watch, and loafers shone with small mother-of-pearl accents. With styled curls and subtle touches of makeup, the CEO made a _pretty_ figure, Asian androgyny peeking out behind his obvious masculinity, only complimented by his obvious holier-than-thou attitude.

Min-So had dressed both of them, taking care to make sure they looked like a matching pair; her outfit was chosen after his, ensuring she looked every bit the extension of Seung-Gil that she was: a pitch black Louis Vuitton gown and a large mother-of-pearl necklace. Just like Seung-Gil, she had taken care to look thin, streamlined, with her pin-straight hair and tall heels. A phone in her hand and a Bluetooth earpiece in her ear, listening to god knows what.

The CEO and the PA stood side by side, mimics of each other; the Koreans’ firm smiles, sharp eyes, and soft, restrained claps matched, as they applauded the couple’s blubbering speech, pretending to have some degree of happiness for the couple.

Seung-Gil looked like the epitome of unruffled professionalism, if not a tad severe, but Min-So knew better: Seung-Gil was on the very last leg of his patience.

As a calming gesture, Min-So stepped forward, mumbling underneath her breath, “Total amount of money donated?”

There was no way his practically omniscient PA didn’t already know the answer to that question, but it did offer Seung-Gil something to do.

So for the next ten minutes, the CEO glanced around the room, estimating individual’s donations based on personality and incomes, slowing going around the room and easily adding up the numbers in his head.

_139,300… 498,000… he’s too cheap, under 25,000… don’t know him well enough… 1,293,280…_

As Yuuri and Viktor thanked the crowd for attending their event for the third time, finally concluding their speech, Seung-Gil mumbled, “Thirty-two million, four hundred thirty-five thousand… give or take.”

Min-So clicked one of her sharp high-heel against the floor, silently congratulating him on the solid number. “Decent. Thirty-two million, four hundred sixty-seven thousand, and a bit of change, but your inaccuracy is less than a hundredth of a percent.”

Seung-Gil frowned, only to straighten his lips at a chiding heel-click. “Still, that’s still a deficiency of 32 thousand.”

Min-So clicked her heel again, the only visible negative tick she allowed between the two of them. “And Messi had an HGH hormone deficiency.”

Seung-Gil raised his eyebrow, confused at the odd tidbit of football trivia.

His PA glanced down at her phone, a slight tone of sarcasm running through her placid voice, “Apologies. I thought we were listing irrelevant deficiencies that in no way affect individual performance, I must have misinterpreted.”

Seung-Gil rolled his eyes, “You’ve been watching too many American shows.”

Min-So’s silence clearly indicating _there is no such thing as too much American shows._

They watched with relief as Viktor and Yuuri walked off the small podium, allowing the event’s emcee to direct the room. The moment the crowd was dismissed to mingle, Seung-Gil walked towards Victor and Yuuri, cutting through the crowd.

It was likely his blank expression or maybe it was his reputation, but either way, the crowd easily parted, allowing Seung-Gil a clear path to the happy couple, who was currently in conversation with a slim, tan man with a bright smile.

Min-So leaned in, "Phichit Chulanont, close friend of Katsuki, CEO of Chu Chu Contraptions. Cheery Gay. Likes hamsters. "

Seung-Gil nodded, recognizing the fellow CEO, and Min-So leaned back in place.

The happy couple was hard to miss, the two of them were wearing a bright coral pink and peacock blue suits, a cheesy nod to their respective company logos. Nikiforov was wrapped around Katsuki like an octopus, tightly winding his arms around the Japanese’s waist and tucking a pointy chin on his shoulder. And Katsuki was absolutely no better, practically melting into the Russian’s touch. They were intertwined, inseparable, and immeasurably idiotic.

Phichit was looking at the couple with a disbelieving smile, affectionate but realizing that they’re utterly ridiculous. While his tux was classically colored, it was tight, emphasized how very thin and spritely he was. The effect was only compounded with the fact that he was wearing more makeup than Nikiforov, gold glittering on his eyelids and highlighting his cheekbones.

He seemed restless, shifting his weight from hip to hip every thirty seconds; words flowed from his mouth at a mile a minute, as if the man was terrified he’d never get to talk again. And from experience, Seung-Gil knew people who spoke too much never said anything important.

 _Bimbo_ , Seung-Gil branded, not needing any other information before completely writing the man off as useless.

Nikiforov noticed the Koreans first, flashing that glaringly bright smile and happily informing Seung-Gil of his name.

"Seung-Gil Lee! I must admit, I’m a little surprised to see you. We know that you dislike coming to these sort of things,” Nikiforov greeted, not moving an inch away from Yuuri.

Seung-Gil nodded, "I do dislike these sorts of things, but we were only allowed to donate in person."

_Lord knows I wouldn’t be here if I could just mail a damn check._

Katsuki's smile falters, clearly uncomfortable with the fact they'd unintentionally forced him to attend the gala. Immediately, Nikiforov picked up on it, pecking Katsuki on the cheek and giving Seung-Gil a plastic smile.

"Well, regardless, your support for our partnership means a lot," Viktor corrected, attempting to soothe his fiancé’s guilt.

Seung-Gil wasn't sure how trying to donate money to starving children could ever be interpreted as supporting their marriage, but he decided to let it go and not unintentionally poke Nikiforov further.

He pulled out the check for 500,000 thousand US dollars, handing it to Katsuki, who grinned happily at the number before flashing that same grin at Seung-Gil. “Thank you. This will really make a difference.”

The Korean raised an eyebrow, knowing that he really _shouldn’t,_ but unable to stop himself from retorting, “I’m aware? I wouldn’t have donated ten percent of my annual salary for no reason.”

Phichit huffed a laugh as Viktor pressed his lips together in a line.

Min-So disapprovingly clicked her heel.

During the pause in conversation, Katsuki jumped, turning towards Phichit. "Oh, Phichit. This is Seung-Gil Lee, CEO of Axel Pharmaceuticals. Seung-Gil, this is Phichit Chulanont, CEO of ChuChu Contraptions."

While a bright, giddy smile flashed brightly, drawing eyes to Phichit’s easy happiness, Seung-Gil glanced up, watching as Phichit’s dark eyes flicked over him, subtly sizing him up. As the Thai jerked a friendly hand out to Seung-Gil, he tilted his head towards Min-So, glancing over her, as well.  

Seung-Gil nodded and shook the hand Phichit offered him, realizing that the man was more intelligent than he let on, perhaps even calculating enough to hide the fact.

_Interesting._

"I've been meaning to meet you," Phichit laughed warmly, "But, you always seem to be busy. After all, both of us second placers have to stick together."

Seung-Gil blinked.

He knew Phichit was joking, but it sparked an idea.

Now that Katsuki and Nikiforov were partners, Seung-Gil would have out outmaneuver both of them. They both would have the full manufacturing power of the other. They'd become an informal multisector conglomerate. Each CEO would have the unsolicited advice of a business tycoon in their ear and the subsequent connections in their back pocket.

Seung-Gil wouldn’t be about to compete with both powerhouses at the same time, not alone. And who better to help Seung-Gil get out of Katsuki’s shadow than Victor Nikiforov's chronic second-placer?

Seung-Gil smiled, a small uptick of his lips, happy to imagine all the different ways Katsuki would fall.

"Yes, we do. You're completely right."

Viktor and Yuuri were blinking in surprise at Seung-Gil's warm reaction. Phichit, however, showed his metal; his bright, enthusiastic smile only widened, flashing straight, white teeth as he nodded, entirely unruffled.

"I'm staying in Tokyo for a few days, Mr. Lee, would you like to get lunch?" Phichit asked, annoyingly leaning forward into Seung-Gil's space with a bright smile.

Instead of stepping back and reclaiming his personal space, Seung-Gil tilted his head towards Min-So, suffering the irritation to appear more approachable. "Can we do lunch?"

Playing up the role she knew Seung-Gil was playing, the PA pulled out her phone, pausing a moment before informing Seung-Gil, "I can push back the flight to Seoul to later tomorrow evening. It shouldn't cause us too much of a problem."

Smiling wider in a way he knew made his eyes crinkle, Seung-Gil pulled out a business card and took the pen Min-So offered, writing his personal number on the back. It would be much easier to just offer Phichit one of his personal cards, but this made it clear Seung-Gil was going out of his way to ensure a line of communication.

"Here, let me know when you’re free tomorrow. I'm at your disposal,” he informed, handing the personalized business card to Phichit.

His words might have been a little dramatic, but anyone could see that Phichit’s usual temperament was extra as fuck, so Seung-Gil figured this would probably go over well.

Phichit accepted the business card with a hint of blush on his cheeks. “I’ll be sure to give you a call,” he answered, rocking slightly on his heels.

Seung-Gil forced his smile wider, tilting his head to subtly accent his jaw line, “I look forward to it.”

Almost immediately, Phichit’s blush darkened.

 _This is going to be too easy._ Seung-Gil realized, almost feeling pity for the poor man.

With the line of communication established, Seung-Gil had nothing else to receive from the conversation and turned away from Phichit after ducking his head respectfully. The Korean's smile dimmed significantly when he turned back towards the successful couple.

"Do excuse me,” Seung-Gil asked curtly.

Katsuki and Nikiforov were in no state to answer, blinking in surprise with agape mouths.

_Pathetic._

Without waiting for a response, Seung-Gil turned on his heel, walking out of the gala with a straight trajectory, making others move out of his way. Min-So was right behind him, heels clicking against the stone floor like a war drum.

Out of the ballroom, out of the lobby, out of the front door, the pair remained silent; Min-So was curious was the way she was walking a tad faster than usual, stepping in line with him instead of tucked just behind his shoulder.

His personal Rolls Royce was waiting outside. The driver had been given orders to come back after 40 minutes. Smoothly, the driver got out and opened the door for the CEO and his PA, ducking his head deferentially.

“How was it, sir?”

“Unexpectedly fruitful.”

\--

Back in the building, Viktor and Yuuri were looking at Phichit with something akin to awe, still adorably tangled together.

"I don't think I've ever seen him smile," Yuuri whispered, too shook to use a normal tone.

"I think the last time he smiled was at his brother's wedding. And that was small, like no teeth,” Viktor added, eyes wide like he was telling them a ghost story around a campfire.

Phichit forced himself to look away from Seung-Gil’s back, cutting through the crowd like a knife. He’d always had a bit of a puppy crush on the man; nothing major, nothing that would affect their interaction, but it was there. There was just something about the Korean’s sharp lined confidence that made Phichit warm and fuzzy inside.

The Thai man rolled his eyes, "He was _fine_. I don't know why you made him to be such a villain. He was a bit curt, but not all of us can pull off the whole flamboyantly gay aesthetic, Viktor."

Viktor paused, attempting to come up with a way to spin his glittery smoky eyes, perfectly styled hair, and hot pink tuxedo as anything but flamboyantly gay.

While the Russian struggled with his impossible task, Phichit turned towards Yuuri, "He's kinda hot, would he be interested?"

"In you? Who wouldn't?" Yuuri cooed, reaching out to pinch Phichit’s cheeks.

_Thanks mom._

Viktor sighed, giving up on spinning his aesthetic. “If you're asking if he's gay, I have no idea. I can't even imagine the man out of a suit."

Yuuri glanced at Viktor, “Who else are you trying to imagine naked, Viktor?”

Viktor choked, flushing and curling even further around his fiancé, “Never, no one. It was an expression, my love.”

Phichit crossed his arms, waiting for them to finish their flirty banter and circle back to the actual conversation; he was all too used to their PDA to feel uncomfortable.

“Good,” Yuuri smirked, “Anyways, Phichit, I heard he has killer abs."

Viktor whined, knowing he was being punished, “I have killer abs.”

Yuuri scoffed, “You’re getting old, Vitya. Besides, when was the last time you went to the gym, hm? Last month? Mr. _I’m too busy with work to care about my body_?”

There was a hint of truth in that, Phichit knew.

Nikiforov was the type of person who lived, breathed, and bled his company. Anything else was secondary, except perhaps Yuuri; so it wasn’t surprising that even Viktor’s ego had taken a back seat during the final stages of the merger.

Wilting underneath the assault, Viktor ducked his head into Yuuri’s neck, pouting. “I’m going to start going to pole-dancing lessons. You just watch, I’ll have the best abs.”

“We’ll see.” Yuuri winked at Phichit, clearly intending this outcome from the very beginning of the argument.

Phichit rolled his eyes, _honestly, they are too cute,_ before looking at Yuuri, desiring to join in on the Viktor bashing. "Make Viktor find me pictures.”

“Of what?” Yuuri asked, open to fulfilling his friend’s request. Yuuri knew he had Viktor wrapped around his finger, and the Japanese loved teasing his fiancé about it.

“Seung-Gil’s killer abs.”

Viktor frowned, lifting his head from Yuuri’s shoulder, "Find them yourself, Chulanont. You can do whatever I can, albeit much slower."

Phichit huffed, playfully setting his hands on his hips, "Don't be rude to me. I will delete your Insta."

"And I’ll delete your Twitter,” Viktor threatened back, pulling away from Yuuri to step up to Phichit’s challenge.

The lazy glow Viktor had been relishing in dropped from the Russian’s shoulders; the rosy look in his eyes melted away to leave a flinty, ice-blue glaze. It was almost scary the way his shoulders straightened and his soft smile hardened to a smirk.

Viktor tucked Yuuri into his side, immediately shifting their dynamic. Yuuri accepted the change with barely a blink, shifting from a dominant tease to an exasperated submissive with ease, placing a soft hand on Viktor’s chest and nuzzling into Viktor’s shoulder.

If there was anything Phichit hated about Yuuri, it was this. The way he had so irreversibly _melded_ with his fiancé; the two soulmates were a single unit, and Phichit’s best friend was never _just_ Yuuri, not anymore.

"Not as bad as losing the Insta. Twitter's for the _old_. Old people don't buy my phones,” Phichit knocked back, refusing to be cowed by Nikiforov’s imposing posture.

Viktor grinned, sharp as a knife, "To be fair, no one buys your phones, Phichit. How low were the sales for the 7CC, again? Or the 6, or the 5, even? I have to say, I admire your persistence if nothing else."

Phichit hesitated for a moment, embarrassed and stunned at Viktor's audacity.

He recovered quickly, but he knew Viktor and Yuuri had seen the hurt flash across his face. Viktor’s eyes flashed, happy to knock his competition down; Yuuri huffed, indicating his irritation but doing absolutely nothing to stop the Russian from further attacking Phichit.

_Thanks, Yuuri._

"Two words, Viktor. Yuri Plisetsky."

Viktor's eyes narrowed, though he let out a fake sounding chuckle, "Your company offered the little genius better healthcare, what can I say? It's not like the brat cared about HM's retirement benefits."

"He's 20, Viktor, what did you expect?" Phichit questioned sarcastically.

"To be loyal to his family," Viktor said, dramatically flipping his long bangs out of his eyes.

Yuuri took the moment to slide away from Viktor, pulling away just enough to look the Russian in the eyes. "Vitya," Yuuri chided, rubbing soothing circles into Viktor’s chest, "Yura loves you very much. He just wanted to get out from your shadow."

"By supporting his competition?" Phichit questioned, intentionally rubbing salt in the wound.

Yuuri sent him a warning look, protecting Viktor, even though the bastard was _clearly_ wrong. “Don’t be rude, Phichit.”

"Please," Viktor bit out, "You're _hardly_ competition, Chulanont. This is just a phase. He'll be right where he belongs after he's done getting his ego pumped up."

"You’re such a piece of work, Nikiforov. Yuri is an adu-"

"I'm sorry, what did you call me?" Viktor was frowning in confusion.

"A piece of work?" Phichit repeats, hesitating slightly at Viktor’s abrupt change in tone.

Viktor blinked, all the dominant posturing melting away now that he needed something from Phichit. "Yes. I heard that,” the Russian explained, looking adorably sheepish, “but what’s insulting about being a painting?"

_Is he… Is he serious?_

Phichit paused, looking at Yuuri who looked as bewildered as Phichit felt. Viktor was smiling, tilting his head innocently like he hadn’t just been ready to tear Phichit apart two seconds ago.

And the thing was, Viktor didn’t seem like he realized what was wrong or even what he had done, and Phichit couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. On one hand, Viktor was a manipulative asshole and on the other, he was an oblivious idiot.

_Nope, no, not today Satan._

He gave Yuuri a brief goodbye, and walked away, utterly and completely done with the conversation.

_Where the hell is Celestino when you need him?_

\--

Sighing, Yuuri turned towards at his poor, confused fiancé.

"How many times have I told you to strengthen your English? Hm? Things like that wouldn’t happen, if you would have just started watching English dubs like I told you to,” Yuuri reminded, softly brushing Viktor's hair.

Viktor pouted, surprisingly still looking absolutely gorgeous with that petulant expression. But then again, the Russian somehow made his bright pink tux look as sexy as the kinkiest BDSM wear, so maybe, not that surprising.

"I hate English,” Viktor pouted, “I speak French, German, Russian, Chinese, and Japanese. I don't understand why I _need_ English. Every word is a euphemism for something else, it’s horrible.”

“What’s horrible is you not catching that euphemism,” Yuuri retorted.

Yuuri knew Viktor’s ego tended to skew his opinions; in this case, his Russian superiority complex and low-key dislike of the United States ending up cumulating in the stupidest possible way, making the man purposely avoid speaking in the most prevalent language in international business.

Honestly.

His fiancé was so petty.

However, Viktor took Yuuri’s sarcasm with a stride, completely unbothered with Yuuri’s prickly comments, knowing they came from a point of confidence in their relationship, rather than anything truly negative.

Viktor smiled, pulling his fiancé closer, “I’d much rather talk to you in your native tongue.”

Yuuri giggled and let the man pull him into an embrace as the Russian whispered Japanese endearments in his ear, reminding Yuuri just what they were celebrating tonight. That feeling of being complete, of knowing that both of them were completely and irreversibly changed by the other, was so unimaginably precious.

_God, how did I get so lucky?_

\--

Min-So turned towards Seung-Gil, clearly waiting for her boss to tell her the game plan.

Seung-Gil just held up a finger, dialing a number from memory into his 7CC, looking out the tinted window of his Rolls Royce.

Min-So raised an unamused eyebrow before pulling out her own phone, no doubt sending out dozens of rose-tinted announcements that Seung-Gil Lee, a supposed corporate _monster_ , went to a charity event, just to donate half a million dollars.

And, _just a reminder,_ she would say, _he cut his salary in half when taking the company over from his father, so that right there was ten percent of  Mr. Lee’s salary. How dare you call the man selfish_?

No one could ever say that Min-So didn’t find ways to keep busy.

Seung-Gil’s phone clicked, indicating the call had connected.

"Who-"

"If I got you access to Chulanont's patents on micro-welding and the support of CC's tech team, how soon could you get to human trials?" Seung-Gil asked, getting straight to the point.

The Kazakh groaned, voice heavy and disorientation, "Oh… Mr. Lee… ugh, what time is-”.

"Dr. Altin,” Seung-Gil interrupted, “I don't pay you to moan. How long would it take to get to trials?"

There was a pause, accompanied by the loud rustling of fabrics and a distinct sound of a spine popping into place. It could have been a tad cruel to order the man to hold an intelligent conversation at 2 in the morning, but Seung-Gil paid the man for exactly these sorts of pains.

The next time Otabek Altin spoke, it was with clarity, the sort of honest articulation that had Seung-Gil could only wish the rest of his employees could have.

"Um…” Otabek sighed, “About 18 months?"

"If I gave you 8?"

"I'd make in 8. Though you'd have significantly more lawsuits on your hands.” The words were blunt, unimpeded by sarcasm or coyness.

The Korean paused, knowing that was something his company absolutely _couldn’t_ afford right now. Axel Pharmaceuticals was walking with several aching muscles and Seung-Gil couldn’t afford another one.

Curiously, Seung-Gil asked, "And if I gave you Yuri Plisetsky?"

" _The_ Yuri Plisetsky? Viktor Nikiforov's Yuri Plisetsky?” Otabek asked, surprise coloring his tone.

“Well, right now, he’s technically Phichit Chulanont’s,” the Korean corrected.

"Consulting? Or partnering?" Now, the doctor sounded interested, motivated; Seung-Gil smiled at the audible change in tone.

"You’ll both be on the same payroll until it comes to market."

"6 months, if I get the people working on the DNA project."

Seung-Gil flicked a glance towards Min-So, knowing that particular project was her brainchild, something she had painstakingly nurtured for the past four years. She had already been furious that Nikiforov had brought Agape to market before her team had even reached a solid beta product.

 It would be very easy to give Otabek a yes, but a pissing off his PA could literally be a death sentence.

“One moment.”

Min-So turned toward him curiously, pausing in her typing to glance at him; she somehow _knew_ that Seung-Gil needed to ask her something.

He muted the phone call before asking her, “Can we dissolve the Nygma project?”

Min-So blinked, before giving him a look that obviously said _you’re a fucking idiot, why the goddamn hell do I work for you._ “It’s a surety Katsuki is going to dominate that market, no matter what we do. That project is worthless now. Feel free to scrap it for parts,” she squinted at him, “Did you actually think I had an emotional attachment to a _project?_ ”

He felt like a child being scolded for still believing in Santa Claus.

“No, not at all. We all know you’re a robot,” Seung-Gil muttered, unmuting his phone.

Min-So smiled proudly at the words, nodding once before turning back towards her own phone, continuing whatever she had been doing.

"6 months?" Seung-Gil asked Otabek, much less excited after Min-So had burst his bubble.

"Probably."

"5o million in settlements?"

"With Plisetsky, I doubt you’ll have any," Otabek admitted.

"Good. At the moment, our settlement fund is on reserve for the eventual flood of US opioid lawsuits."

While the country was currently festering underneath its current idiotic orange administration, Axel’s opioid sales were at an all-time high, but all as soon as the tides changed to someone remotely competent, Seung-Gil was going to be spending a lot of his time in a courtroom, trying to explain the very simple idea that buying drugs was a voluntary decision.

Otabek barked a laugh, "You're a terrible person, Lee. Why the _fuck_ are you in healthcare?"

Seung-Gil smirked, "People pay good money to stay alive, Dr. Altin."

Min-So gave an enthusiatic  _amen_ to that.

As he hung up the phone, the Korean couldn’t help a victorious smile- _tnow, he just had to wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Good, bad, meh?
> 
> Should I continue???
> 
> Kudos make Min-So even more of a badass.  
> Comments give Phichit some of those killer abs photos.


	2. Honestly, it's her fault for not posting them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit finds those photos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL, you guys. I really wasn't planning on writing this scene, but you guys were so supportive of Phichit's thirstiness in the comments that I was driven to write this. 
> 
> It's really just a filler scene, but it should be fun to read.
> 
> ENJOY!!

 

Phichit was hunched over his laptop, wrinkling his ten-thousand dollar tux as he rather pathetically scoured the internet for Seung-Gil’s ab photos.

He very quickly realized a flaw in his reasoning.

Phichit could scan the entirety of the interwebs, break into private accounts and emails, maybe even iclouds and google drives.

But, if Seung-Gil never took his fucking shirt off; there would be no fucking ab photos.

Phichit wanted to slam his head into the table in frustration at the Korean’s clothed body, and then he wanted to slam his head into the table in disgust at how _thirsty he was._

_Come on, we can do this. Fuck Nikiforov._

That somewhat took him by surprise, because what did Nikiforov have to do with Seung-Gil’s abs? But, somehow, Phichit’s subconscious had turned this into a point of pride- he would find the photos on his own. They’d be good quality, high res, full frontal pictures that would be just as good as anything the Russian asshole could whip up.

Honestly, it was lovely that he was motivated by spite.

Really.

_I’m just living my best life._

Celestino sighed, brushing out his long, grey hair; the man had already changed into his pajamas, a pair of basketball shorts and a cotton shirt, looking like he was ready for a run.

“Phichit. _Why?_ You don’t even like this man.”

Celestino had a point, but Phichit wasn’t going to stop. No. Phichit was on a one-way ticket to hell. Well, if hell was a sharp six-pack and the glory of being better than his best friend’s fiancé.

“Don’t talk logically to me. I want support, not sanity,” he complained, clicking on another link.

The PA sighed, walking over to sit next to Phichit, continuing to brush out his hair but giving the thin man all of his attention. Phichit immediately tilted his screen so Celestino could see the endless photos of Seung-Gil in suits and tuxes

“Work around the problem. Don’t look for abs, look for places he’d be shirtless.”

Phichit blinked.

That was smart. Why didn’t he think of that?

_Why is my 35-year-old PA better at being thirsty than me?_

“That’s… That’s good. That works, let’s see, he could…” Phichit mumbled, remembering what he’d clicked through in his thirty minutes of scouring.

Surprisingly, Seung-Gil patroned a ton of charities, more than Phichit and almost as many as Yuuri, which was saying a lot because someone just had to pout at Yuuri and he’d immediately throw his money at them.

 All things considered though, Yuuri could afford to do that; the man lived rather meagerly and had enough excess money to pour into good causes. Seung-Gil… Seung-Gil didn’t exactly limit himself. Expensive clothes, fancy cars, luxury apartments.

How he managed that meager, crippled CEO’s salary, Phichit had no idea. Six million a year was plentiful, in theory, but it slipped from your fingers far quicker than one would think.

Hell, even _Yuuri_ took a larger salary than that.

_He easily gave out 500,000 at the gala…_

If Seung-Gil matched that amount for even _half_ of the charities he patroned, the man would be broke, like broke as fuck.

 _Wait_ -

Phichit paused.

**CEO Seung-Gil Lee attended the opening of the newest elementary school built by Juliard Foundation…**

**After ending the tour, the CEO spontaneously gave into the children's endearing request to visit the pool…**

**None of the other adults were comfortable with getting wet, none of us had a change of clothes (including me); however, Mr. Lee made the best of the somewhat awkward situation, stripping down to his slacks and carefully corralling the excited kids towards the shallower ends of the pool…**

**the CEO made a rather lovely picture, and I do have to admit to taking a few …**

The article was from a year ago, and though there weren’t any pictures accompanying the article, it was a damn easy thing to find the author’s Facebook account, and a single call to Facebook’s helpline got an email address.

Celestino huffed as Phichit broke into the woman’s Gmail account, but really, it was her fault for not posting the damn photos and sharing the gorgeousness with the world.

After that, it was easy to scroll up through her google drive to about a year ago, and-

_Fuck me._

_Can he?_

_Please?_

The author hadn’t taken a few. She’d taken dozens. Though Phichit could hardly blame her. This was quality material. Like actual quality material.

_Oh my god, he’s so pretty._

Phichit’s breath caught in his throat; his heart beat faster, speeding up as his very excitable emotions quickly ramped up to a high peak. A blush heated up his cheeks as he eagerly scrolled through the dozens of pictures of a wet, half-naked Seung-Gil.

Seung-Gil’s slacks tightly hugged his hips, modestly keeping the majority of that V covered up, but hugging slim thighs and a plush ass. His curly hair was damp, falling wetly into his eyes and framing his sharp cheekbones. His soaked pale skin glistened underneath the bright gym lights, emphasizing all the sharp lines in his arms and shoulders and…

Phichit let out a squeal, rocking back and forth before covering his mouth, overcome with-

_Oh my god, I’m so gay. I’m so gay. Please, Jesus let him be gay, let us be gay together._

“Celestino! His abs!” Phichit squealed, “Look at that six-pack… They’re so _sharp._ I could- I could cut someone’s dick off with his abs.”

“Yeah- wait. What?”

Phichit couldn’t bring himself to care about his PA’s reaction at the moment, too overcome with _desire_ to even maintain a second line of thought.

_I could cut a cucumber on them or an apple or Viktor’s stupid ass face._

But, that gory image immediately melted into something more appealing- the image of Viktor’s objectively handsome face leaning over Seung-Gil’s lovely, sculpted skin had Phichit short-circuiting.

_Fuck, fuck, fuckkkkkk._

But, after that, Phichit took a moment to actually look at the pictures, watching as Seung-Gil flashed warm smiles at the tiny children, tugging a stray kid back to the shallow part of the pool, holding another little girl on his hip. Looking completely at ease in the middle of a flock of kids, Seung-Gil still somehow looked even more handsome as he cared for the eager kids attempting to capture his attention.

_Oh. Sweet. Jesus._

Whoever called Seung-Gil cold had clearly never seen these photos, because this was someone who could be a _father_ , someone who could care for, dote on, and spoil their loved ones.

If Phichit had ovaries- they’d have just exploded from sheer need to have that man’s babies.

There was desire bubbling in Phichit’s chest. Not necessary sexual so much as possessive, Phichit wanted this man, this _pretty, kind, intelligent man_ , who indulged children’s’ requests and patroned a dozen charities, all the while having abs sharp enough to cut a mango on.

_I am so fucked._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? No? Was Phichit too thirsty? Or not thirsty enough?
> 
> Next up is the lunch date!!
> 
> Kudos download those pics for future reference.  
> Comments cut fruit on Seung-Gil's abs and proceed to eat it off of him.


	3. 75/25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lunch date/meeting? Do they even know which one it is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH! BACK AGAIN, WITH ANOTHER FORTNIGHT INSTANT REPLAY.
> 
> Okay, yah, no, sorry. My roomates been saying that a lot and I wanted to give it a go, without giving her the pleasure of hearing me say it. Honestly, it rolls off the tongue really nicely.
> 
> Anyways, um, Seung-Gil's kinda a dick in this? I mean, he's always a dick, but he's kinda a dick in this chapter, so, yeahhhh.
> 
> I tried to limit the food descriptions, because there's nothing worse than reading about food you can't eat.
> 
> Anyway, ENJOY!

Seung-Gil walked past his Rolls Royce, smoothing out the minute wrinkles in his button-down, sighing at the odd feel of the silky fabric against his skin.

_The things Min-So puts me in._

Research from late last night had proved Phichit was gay. Gay as hell and attracted to pretty boys.

And, Seung-Gil, a man frequently confused for a member of EXO, was a certifiable pretty boy.

So, Min-So had done her best to dress him accordingly, throwing a pile of clothes and makeup at him while he was sipping his morning coffee; she grinned at Seung-Gil’s sleepy bewilderment, telling him to ask her for help with the eye-liner.

All of which meaning that, Seung-Gil was all dolled up, everything done so he looked sharp-lined and somewhat feminine.

His shirt was slightly translucent and fit just so that the shadows of his abs were just _barely_ visible. His navy pants were tighter than usual, hugging his slim thighs and even slimmer calves before falling elegantly to meet his Prada tan loafers. His matching jacket lined his trim waist and softened his broad shoulders.

He’d spent thirty minutes straightening and re-curling his already curly hair. And then, he'd maybe used some bright, pink toned highlighter on his cheekbones and a slightly shimmery eyeshadow.

So, in summation, Seung-Gil was ready to charm the fuck out of Phichit Chulanont.

Except, the Korean had to pause in his mental review because there was his mark, his Phichit Chulanont, a multi-millionaire… wearing ripped, faded Adidas sweatpants and a cheap muscle tee that said _'run like Brendan Urie is at the finish line_ '.

Seung-Gil blinked, unsure if he was overdressed or if the other man was underdressed. Well, no, he knew Phichit was sorely underdressed; the restaurant they were standing in front of didn’t even sell an appetizer for less than 200 USD, which was probably worth more than everything that man was wearing combined.

He was confused because _how the hell_ did the man not understand basic social cues? It was no wonder Phichit couldn’t beat Nikiforov, if you couldn’t pick out a decent outfit, then how could anyone expect you to rear a multi-billion dollar corporation?

_What have I gotten myself into?_

After just one conniving look, Seung-Gil had assumed he had Phichit all figured out, which could have been one of the stupidest things he’d ever done.

"Mr. Lee!" Phichit called out, jogging towards him.

_Too late to turn back now._

"Mr. Chulanont,” Seung-Gil replied, offering a small smile.

He didn’t move closer, standing still and letting Phichit come to him. The man was dressed to jog; Seung-Gil would let him jog.

Phichit came to a stop right in front of him, barely six inches from his face, with a raging blush on his cheeks. "Phichit, _please_ ," he answered. The Thai’s dark eyes slowly slid down Seung-Gil’s body, pausing a second on the silky, shirt, before meeting his eyes.

_Well, the shirt worked, at least. Maybe I should accidentally pop a button._

“Then I have to insist that you call me, Seung-Gil.”

They stood there a second, Seung-Gil doing his best to recreate an open, friendly posture, and Phichit checking him out, _again_.

"You look nice," Phichit complimented, reaching out to fuss over Seung-Gil's waistcoat.

Seung-Gil forced himself to stay still and accept the invasion of his personal space.

"You look ready for the gym," Seung-Gil answered, figuring that it was best to address the stark differences in attire and get it out of the way before it became awkward.

Phichit laughed, running a hand through his un-styled hair, "Noticed, did you?”

“I’d have to be blind not to,” Seung-Gil smiled.

“Right, I’m going to be working out right after, so I figured I shouldn’t crumple a good suit for nothing.”

Simultaneously, Seung-Gil was:

  * Affronted at the implication that a lunch meeting with him was nothing.
  * Confused, considering that, medically speaking, after lunch was the worst time for a run.



Doing what he was good at, Seung-Gil suppressed his emotions and nodded understandingly.

"Shall we?" Seung-Gil asked, gesturing towards the restaurant.

"Oh, right," Phichit answered, jumping to attention, "Let's go."

Even as they walked inside, the Phichit didn’t walk so much as skip, spinning around once and tilting his face up to feel the sun. It was hard to imagine just what was making Phichit so happy, but the other option would be that Phichit was always this peppy, and Seung-Gil refused to consider that as an option.

The restaurant was bright and airy, with that white-lined boho look and servers in sleek grey bowties and suspenders. It was a restaurant Phichit would pick.

The hostess’s eyes slid past Seung-Gil to rest on Phichit, which wasn’t surprising. The public was far more concerned with the people making their phones than the ones making their medicine. Seung-Gil was used to it, and, all things considered, it was probably best people didn’t know who to blame for their inflated medical fees.

“ _Mr. Chulanont_ ,” she whispered in awe, “Do you… I’m not supposed to do this, but do you mind taking a picture?”

 _If you’re not supposed to, then why are you?_ Seung-Gil made a note to inform the manager of the insubordination.

However, knowing Phichit would say yes, Seung-Gil stepped to the side, immediately making room for the unprofessional employee to squeal and snap her selfie.

Surprisingly, Phichit tugged him back into the picture, telling the hostess with a smirk, that _two CEOs are better than one_ , _especially when they look like him_. Rolling with the compliment, Seung-Gil offered a friendly smile, making sure to tilt his head properly so he didn’t have an almost-there double chin.

The hostess giggled, snapped her photo, and then promptly led them to their table; after thanking them again for the photo, she walked off, leaving them alone.

“You don’t have an Instagram, do you?” Phichit asked, though he clearly already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid I don’t; I should have one, though.”

“But, you have a twitter,” Phichit’s voice dipped down into mild disappointment.

There really was no need to have an Instagram. Seung-Gil didn’t need people to like _him_ , people just needed to like his drugs. Instagram was for idols, making people like you and aspire to be you; it was geared towards younger people who were hardly the ones requiring his company’s services.

Twitter, on the other hand, was useful. It was a legitimate way for Seung-Gil to efficiently send out statements without holding an entire press conference. It was detached and formal, while still reaching a wide audience.

But, Seung-Gil could hardly tell Phichit that.

“Would you… Would you mind making me one? I’m just not that in-touch with people my age,” Seung-Gil admitted, making sure to dip his head a bit like he was embarrassed.

There was a pause.

Phichit jumped, reaching across the table to squeeze Seung-Gil’s hand, squealing excited, “Oh my _gosh_ , I’d love to. Do you want to do it right now? Do you have any selfies we could use? I have the perfect aesthetic in mind for you.”

Phichit moved his chair next to his and pulled out his phone and motioned for Seung-Gil to do the same, blinking in surprise as the Korean pulled out a 7CC.

“Oh. You… I really was expecting you to have a Niki,” Phichit whispered, gingerly reaching out to twirl the phone. Glancing curiously at the blank white background, before rubbing the simple black phone case, Phichit seemed to treasure the fact Seung-Gil had one of his phones.

Seung-Gil frowned, sending Phichit a genuinely confused look.

“Why?”

“Well, isn’t obvious? Everyone uses a Niki,” Phichit laughed sharply. His smile didn’t fall, but it sharpened to something bitter.

_So he does have a wider emotional range than just happy and ecstatic._

However, Seung-Gil still turned to look Phichit in the eyes; he couldn’t have his future partner develop a Nikiforov complex just before they went up against Nikiforov.

“Phichit. CC’s are far more secure and efficient than a Niki. Nearly 80% of professionals use CC’s and the 7’s processing power is nearly double the Stammi Vicino’s. Your phones are _better_ than his. The fact that they aren’t as popular hardly means anything,” he comforted, taking his phone back to unlock it.

Honestly, it was hard for Seung-Gil to grasp how Phichit didn’t know this. He could understand feeling inferior, but facts were facts; and it took barely two seconds of comparing them to see that the CC was a better phone in nearly every way, except for Nikiforov’s pretty exterior and somewhat more colorful interface.

“I keep track of the progress of over 50 teams on this phone. Every single day, I have nearly 200 appointments listed every single day. A Niki would have burnt out in months just trying to hold all of that. The 7CC can process a year of data and make a flow chart.”

 

Phichit’s smile widened, perking up again underneath the praise.

_There we go._

“You’re right. Thank you; it’s easy to forget that when your sales are pathetic in comparison. Anyways. Let’s make your insta.”

\--

Seung-Gil gingerly took his phone back, somewhat shell-shocked from the past fifteen minutes.

Phichit had created an account with 50k followers in fifteen minutes.

Min-So had called Phichit a social media god, but Phichit really was very masterful with his SNS accounts.

“So, I’ve set up some delayed posts, enough for like two a day for the next two weeks. After that, you’re kinda on your own? I mean I’m happy to help, but that’s all the picture’s I have for now. Honestly, you need to take more selfies, though, otherwise, all my work goes down the drain. You remember which filter to use?” Phichit looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Slate grey?”

“Damn straight. Now, it’s a semi-casual account, so you can post official stuff, just nothing really self-promotional ish. I’ve made you follow some people, and feel free to follow others, just make sure that your following number is less than your followers. It’s a complicated Insta algorithm, but it ends up helping you. I’ll have a couple other people name drop you, but keep up the aesthetic. What should your pictures look like?”

“Shimmery, navy, sharp-lined, delicate.”

Phichit sent him proud look, and Seung-Gil sent a genuine smile back. He liked succeeding, even if it was just properly answering a question.

“Good, my star pupil. You should reach 500 by the end of the week, your abs guarantee that much,” Phichit blushed.

Phichit had somehow dredged up old, unpublished photos from a charity event a couple months ago, where Seung-Gil had gotten into the pool with some little kids.

“How _did_ you get those pho-”

“Oh look! Our food. This looks so good, doesn’t it? Like, that one, you could post that one. And I’ll take a snap of this one.”

The waitress set down their food with a smile, not saying a word as she gracefully turned on her heel, they didn’t ask if there were any problems, because they knew that there wouldn’t be.

It was the kind of efficiency Seung-Gil adored.

He wondered if Phichit had chosen this restaurant for him instead of for himself.

 _Hm. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive,_ Seung-Gil wondered as Phichit guided him through taking a proper photo at the correct angle with decent lighting.

“Yay! Post it, post it! And I’ll post mine. Make sure to at me. Did you at me? No, the other one, yeah. Gosh, I’m excited,” Phichit grinned, “You’re going to have so much fun.”

 _No, I won’t_.

But Seung-Gil didn’t say that, smiling, and carrying on their conversation to new topics, as they ate their main course. The food was spectacular, but when the price tag was so hefty, anything less would be theft.

Eventually, the conversation turned exactly where Seung-Gil wanted it to, and that was entirely by chance, of course, there was no way he’d subtly directed their conversation so he could casually bring up an important multi-million dollar business proposal.

No way at all.

Their desserts were set in front of them. An intricately layered orange cream cake for Phichit and a simple Zepolli platter of Seung-Gil.

“Well, there’s actually a significant amount of crossover, technology-wise,” Seung-Gil smiled, making to add just a bit of boasting to his tone so that Phichit would ask him:

“Oh, really? Name one project.”

_Hook, line, and sinker._

“It’s a microbot project actually. They’re supposed to function like platelets, but and the issue of your patents has come up more than once.”

“Huh, I would have thought you’d be on the same track as Yuuri, you know, genetic work,” Phichit admitted, leaning in closer, clearly interested.

The coil of stress that had been tightly wound at faking interaction finally loosened. This was something he was comfortable with, something he didn’t have to fake. Acting his way through a conversation was always somewhat stressing, the way it was more like chess than an actual conversation.

“Katsuki is bound to make any advancements in twice the time we would. It’s just not feasible to attempt to out run them in a marathon they’ve already started. Microtechnology, however, is far cheaper and much more adaptable. It’s not dissimilar to the difference between you and Nikiforov.”

Phichit hummed, eyes flicking upwards, taking a bite of his cake as he processed what Seung-Gil said.

“So, genetic work is custom and expensive, but these could be versatile and mass-produced?” Phichit asked.

“Exactly.”

“Well, then,” Phichit sighed, taking another bite, “You’re going to have the same dilemma I do then. People are going to prefer genetic work.”

Seung-Gil smirked, “When someone’s dying on an operation table, they’re hardly in the position to _prefer_ anything. Long term, maybe, they can desire an organ grown from their own genome, but before that, the months as their kidney growing, what else can they do but accept what I give them?”

Phichit’s eyes widened as he leaned back into his own chair, looking down at his food.

“Wow. I suppose you do have a point there,” Phichit whispered.

And Seung-Gil would have been worried that he had scared the man off if it hadn’t been for the way Phichit’s dark eyes had dilated and a blush lightly dusted his cheeks.

Seung-Gil took a bite of his Zepolli, humming.

_Hm. Didn’t take him for a submissive… How fun._

 “I do. But, we keep running into a technical issue,” Seung-Gil admitted, sharpening his voice slightly, and watching Phichit curiously for a reaction, “And I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Yes?”

“They function decently, but they aren’t small enough to pass through capillaries with a substantial margin of error, and, well, as I said, your patents have come into discussion.”

Phichit’s lips part, like he was surprised that Seung-Gil was serious about needing his help, and then his eyes narrowed, a calculating look dancing in them, and the Korean relished in the sight.

“It’s the microwelding patents isn’t it?” Phichit asked, slightly accusatory.

Seung-Gil smiled, putting his elbows on the table, deciding to place his cards on the table, “And Yuri Plisetsky.”

The Thai scoffed, offering a sharp smile, “And I should give you my two most profitable assets, because?”

“It would be our project, and I’m willing to split profits. You _know_ this has the ability to out perform the Agape, wouldn’t _you_ like to beat Nikiforov?” Seung-Gil’s tone was firm, warm, and entirely fueled by his own frustration. “You called us second-placers, and I really would like to outgrow that title.”

“Helping you would betray Yuuri. You’re his direct competition.”

Phichit had an odd look on his face. He was conflicted. It was obvious he was sore from being stepped on by Nikiforov; the bruises were practically visible, the way Phichit winced and ached at the reminder. But there was a warm look in his eyes, a stupid, desperate loyalty to Katsuki that would only end up hurting him.

He wanted this, but he was too sentimental, too illogical.

So Seung-Gil gave a cruel truth, happy to watch Phichit’s heart shatter if it meant getting what he wanted.

“Didn’t Katsuki betray you first?” Seung-Gil asked, voice cheerful and sharp, “He teamed up with Nikiforov, after all. If Nikiforov was ahead of you before, now he’s in an entirely different league. Your best friend left you in the dust, Phichit. He left you out to dry for the newer, prettier boy toy, and I’m just trying to offer you a chance to catch back up.”

Phichit’s eyes watered, and Seung-Gil forced his victorious smile into something more considerate.

There was a still a wavering smile on the man’s lips, but his eyes were sad, showing the depths of Katsuki’s betrayal.

 _I knew it would be too easy_.

“Phichit, you have just as much right to a partner as Yuuri does, and I’d like to be that partner. I feel like I have quite a bit to offer, and I would gladly accept anything you’d offer in return. Just…” Seung-Gil paused to give the effect of empathy, “Just, consider it?”

Phichit nodded, wiping his eyes, slowly covering up his weakness, unable to rebuild himself or do anything more than shove his pain into a closet, when he was in front of Seung-Gil.

“You’re right. I’ll consider it. But, um, be honest, how much of this meeting was about making a business deal?”

 _One hundred percent_.

“25 percent?” Seung-Gil offered sheepishly, “I mean, I couldn’t _not_ think about it. You’re my favorite phone company.”

Phichit giggled, flashing a weak, flattered smile, “And the rest of it?”

“Well,” Seung-Gil smiled teeth, tilting his head so that the highlight on his cheekbone would catch the light, “I can’t deny that I wanted to spend time with you, you’re a very handsome, powerful man, Phichit, of course, I’d be curious.”

Phichit giggled, covering his face, “You’re flattering me.”

Seung-Gil smirked, “Good, that’s the goal.”

Phichit squeaked, curling further into his chair, hiding his face in the table. And, there was something unmistakably _cute_ about it. Phichit might have been wet-eyed and naïve, but his easy, honest reactions were endearing.

Just slightly.

Just barely.

Peaking between his fingers, Phichit glanced at his empty plate and then Seung-Gil’s, “It’s time to go, isn’t it?”

Seung-Gil looked at Phichit, feeling an odd sense of disappointment, “Yes, it is.”

“Right,” Phichit grinned, stood up, “Walk me to my car?”

Seung-Gil blinked at the abrupt change in tone, but stood up, comfortable with playing the dominant escort. Phichit hooked an arm around his own, holding Seung-Gil’s bicep with both hands, somehow still managing to make it look graceful instead of desperate.

They walked past the hostess, who blushed and thanked them again.

 _Phichit must have already had the entire lunch billed to his account_ , Seung-Gil realized, appreciating the politeness.

They both were silent, walking down the street to an ostentatious canary yellow Porsche.

_Of course, he has a canary yellow Porsche._

When they reached the car, Phichit turned around to face Seung-Gil, smiling brightly, so much so that his eyes seemed to twinkle.

“I had a great time, and I hope I can see you again, even if I do end up rejecting your proposal.”

_No way in he-_

Seung-Gil didn’t have a chance to finish his thought, because Phichit was there, in front of his face, pressing soft lips to Seung-Gil’s cheek. It was a chaste peck, a sweet, cute little thing, but, it had Seung-Gil’s cheeks burning like Phichit had just ground his dick on him.

“It was a _very_ nice 75 percent,” Phichit crooned into his ear, before stepping back, winking, and sliding into his car, and disappearing behind the car’s tinted windows.

Seung-Gil froze for a moment, unable to understand why his heart was pounding.

_I’ve got some recalculating to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? Bad? Seung-Gil was less of a dick than you expected?
> 
> Kudos make Seung-Gil become an Instagram goddess, complete with like facemasks and a-day-in-the-life-of posts.  
> Comments make Phichit jump out of his Porsche and rip off Seung-Gil's shirt.


	4. Stress Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is actually up with Phichit??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. 
> 
> I'm on fire, you guys?! Two 2,000 word updates in 24 hours? Bruh.
> 
> Anyways, here's a Phichit chapter, because, while we know what's going on with Seung-Gil but we really don't have a solid grasp on Phichit other than he has a thirst that can't be quenched.
> 
> Do be warned, Phichit does have some kinda depressing thoughts.

Phichit wasn’t sure if it was the stress of the business proposal or the butterflies beating against his stomach, but he suddenly slipped back out of the car.

Stepping back into the daylight, Phichit jumped Seung-Gil.

The Korean stumbled back under the attack, before finding his balance, wrapping his arms around Phichit’s waist.

Phichit would have curled up into the touch, if he wasn’t on a mission.

A mission to touch the abs.

The beautiful, gorgeous abs.

Phichit tugged off Seung-Gil’s coat, throwing the lovely, expensive jacket behind him. A soft _thunk_ let him know that it had landed safely into his car, easing Phichit’s mind as he smirked, running his fingers gently up the thin, pearly shirt that had been taunting him for the past hour.

Seung-Gil was blushing, but Phichit could hardly care, because all that was separating from him from the sculpted six-pack of godlike proportions was a thin scrap of fabric.

_Oh my god, I’m touching it._

“Sorry,” Phichit splayed his hands over Seung-Gil’s abdomen, feeling that hard muscle tense underneath his fingers, “I just couldn’t… They had been taunting me.”

‘What? I’m sorry?” Seung-Gil asked calmly, as if Phichit wasn’t feeling him up in the middle of the sidewalk.

_He’s so confident and collected and so sexy. Why is he so sexy? How is he that sexy?_

“Your abs,” Phichit crooned, pecking Seung-Gil’s cheek again, but stopping himself from nuzzling into neck like an overzealous puppy.

Phichit stroked over the taut skin, once and again, and one more time, before he was satisfied.

_I’m going to make him my sexy._

Phichit giggled at Seung-Gil’s confidently raised eyebrow and blushing cheeks, before slipping back into his canary yellow Porshe.

_Seung-Gil isn’t going to know what hit him._

\--

Phichit crashed open the hotel room, walking straight towards the bed and falling on it with a groan.

Except that didn’t ease the twitchy anxiety roiling around in his stomach, so he slammed a hand down on the pillow, once, twice, twice.

Somewhere along the car ride, Phichit’s giddy thirstiness had drained away, leaving the pain that had been throbbing in the back of his mind, soft and vulnerable from Yuuri’s absence.

“Uh oh,” Celestino commented, leaving his laptop to come and sit down next to Phichit’s limp body. “Are you okay, Chulanont?”

Phichit opened his mouth to answer, except he realized that _damn it all,_ he didn’t want to, but he knew that he should, and the dichotomy only made him feel worse, because the last thing he wanted was Celestino to realize just how _weak_ he was.

“Phichit? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

A heavy hand rested on Phichit’s shoulder, a comforting weight that made Phichit want to cry, because it was so nice being someone’s first priority, of being first _somewhere_ , even if Phichit had to pay for it.

Celestino didn’t ask after Seung-Gil, after the meeting, after anything but Phichit.

And that, actually made Phichit want to scream into the pillow, because how _pathetic_ was it that no one cared about him but his Personal Assistant? The only affection he got was on his payroll, and even that was hardly anything genuine.

“Okay. We’re going for a run, okay? Give me two seconds.”

Celestino ran off, leaving Phichit all alone.

_Everyone leaves. Everyone always leaves, what did you genuinely expect Chulanont? Even Yuuri, your Yuuri, the man you’d dedicated your career to, the man who’d inspired you, your best fucking friend, left you for Nikiforov._

_If all your love and unlimited adoration couldn’t keep him, than what use are you to anyone else?_

Phichit whined, hating how his chest cramped up at the thought; it almost hurt, the way the stress was writhing in his stomach, making everything ache and feel fuzzy at the same time, and _Phichit hated it._

And the worst part was that he was doing it to himself.

“Right, we’re leaving now, okay? Let’s go,” Celestino commanded.

Firm hands tugged Phichit up, dragging him out the door, even though the only thing Phichit wanted was to huddle in his blankets and wallow, which wouldn’t help any, but it was the easiest and most masochistic option.

The Italian man gently pushed him out of the hotel room, wrapping a comforting arm around Phichit’s waist.

_How long has it been, hm? Since someone’s touched you of their own volition? Even Celestino wouldn’t do it, if you didn’t ask him to._

Phichit forced himself to not pull away from Celestino, shuddering at just how _heavy_ his stomach felt; it felt like a stomach ache, with the added insult that Phichit _knew_ it was all in his head, with no basis except how sensitive he was to his own damn emotions.

_Can’t even control your own head, how do you expect to control a company? You really are your own worst enemy aren’t you? Stop me from talking, stop yourself from thinking you’re pathetic, come on._

_Just what I thought._

_Maybe you should just give up. You have nothing and no one. Hell, you don’t even fucking have yourself._

“Whatever you’re thinking, Chulanont, you’re wrong,” Celestino said, pressing a button in the elevator.

Phichit glanced at his PA, who was being so completely, utterly kind to him, only to see the man in his basketball shorts and a button-down, a tie still loosely around his neck.

_You couldn’t even give the man two seconds to properly get dressed. What the fuck is wrong with you?_

_You couldn’t control yourself for long enough for your PA to get out of his $550 shirt? You’re such a child, such a burden, so utterly worthless._

_He does so much for you._

_He’s the only one who cares about you._

The elevator stopped, and Celestino led him out, leading him down a hall. Phichit’s legs felt heavy, everything burned, but lightly, fakely, with an awkward, uncomfortable ache that wasn’t real but felt like it was.

_And this is how you replay him? Maybe you should just fire him, at least that way he doesn’t have to deal with you on a daily basis. Or, better yet, maybe you should just quit._

_One day, he’s going to get tired of putting so much effort into a failure, and he’s going to leave you, just like Yuuri, just like your mama, just like your vice president, and all of your boyfriends, and all the people who met you and decided you weren’t worth the fucking effort._

They stopped. It was a track. A running track that encompassed the entire floor, with floor to ceiling windows lining the space, and it was completely empty.

“Come on, Chulanont,” Celestino commanded, “Let’s go.”

Celestino jogged in front of him, raising an eyebrow, clearly demanding that Phichit follow him, even though _he didn’t want to_. He just wanted to fall to the floor, curl up, and die.

Except he couldn’t, because Celestino was there and would most definitely call EMTs if Phichit was to curl up on the floor and wait for death.

So, Phichit followed him, submissively jogging behind Celestino, hoping that he was doing what the man wanted. The Italian man led them around the track again,

_Celestino would want you to run faster._

And again,

_Come on, is that the best you could do?_

And again,

_Hurry up. I know you’re mentally weak, but you’re physically weak, too?_

And again,

Until all the nervous energy that had been feeding on itself was slowly encompassed by _actual_ exhaustion. And, even though Phichit’s lungs ached and his calves burned, he’d felt significantly better than how he felt when he’d started.

Phichit had been backlogging all of his negative emotions for the past month, and finally it had come to a breaking point, tipping over into a release as cathartic as crying out his feelings or writing a shitty piece of poetry.

The stress and anxiety burned out, fizzling into nothing as Phichit forced himself back into the present, back to reality, the imagined cramping in his stomach disappearing as his legs genuinely started to give out.

Until he couldn’t imagine why he’d ever thought of himself as anything but a lovely human being.

“Cel- Celestino,” Phichit panted, coming to a jerky stop, “I’m done. Please, stopppp.”

Celestino turned around, showing off a pinkened face and even breathing, “You sure?”

“What the hell? You don’t even look,” Phichit paused, dropping to the floor and lying down on the track, unable to talk and stand at the same time, “You don’t even look _tired._ ”

His PA huffed, “Well, maybe if you jogged every day, instead of just using it as your monthly stress relief, you’d feel the same way.”

“But if it was easy, then it wouldn’t be very stress-relieving, now would it?”

Celestino sat down next to Phichit, a mothering look in his eyes as he gently checked Phichit’s heart rate and breathing, before leaning back, relaxed.

“I am so happy we decided on sweats instead of a suit,” Phichit admitted, looking up that the ceiling, “Not running in a suit was definitely worth looking like an idiot in front of Seung-Gil.”

“Oh god,” Celestino groaned, remembering the last incident, “We’d never got the sweat stains out of that suit. I dry cleaned it three times, Chulanont. Three times.”

“I know. I paid for the dry cleaning.”

“Shut up. I signed those checks.”

“You forged my signature?”

“Please. My name is on your bank account.”

“When did that happen?”

“Not sure, honestly.”

“Okay, Ciao Ciao” Phichit trailed, sending his PA an amused look, “I feel gross. I want a bath.”

Immediately, Celestino gets up, nodding as he helped his boss get back on his feet. Phichit stumbles slightly; his legs felt like jello. So, Celestino placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, letting him hold his own weight, but still offering some support as they walked back to the elevator.

“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” Phichit complained, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

“Well, you ran 6 miles in an hour so, that’s pretty understandable,” Celestino explained, sounding like a smug bastard.

Phichit worked on steadying his breathing as they rode back up to the penthouse suite, loving the way his lungs burned with each breath.

“Do you want to talk about it now? Or later?” Celestino opened the door to their hotel room, letting Phichit slip in first.

“Now. He said too much shit; I’m going to forget parts of it,” Phichit admitted.

The PA nodded, walking to the bathroom and starting a bath, pulling out a bath bomb and a bag rejuvenating salts out of literally nowhere, before turning back to his boss.

“Two minutes,” he said, before running to the other bathroom, no doubt taking a quick shower himself.

Phichit smiled: Celestino was a national treasure.

Stripping out of the shitty athletic wear Phichit had thankfully worn to lunch, Phichit frowned at the disgusting stickiness of his skin.

He slid into the shallow pool of water, waiting for the tub to fill up completely before dropping the salts and bath bomb. His eyes fluttered closed as he waited for Celestino to return.

The water was cool, just the way he liked it. Hot water made you feel numb, floaty, while cool water nipped at your skin, soothing your aches and making you feel every inch of your body. It grounded you.

And, Phichit needed every opportunity to be in the moment.

“Okay,” Celestino said, startling Phichit as he walked back into the room.

The PA rubbed his hands together, looking just a bit wary as he approached Phichit. His hair was wrapped in a towel and the rest of him was clad in a hotel robe, clearly just back from his shower. “Okay,” he smiled, “What happened?”

Phichit sighed, dropping the bath bomb into the water, watching it fizz and turn the pool of water a pretty coral pink.

“It started great.”

“Right.”

“I mean… It did, but then he _casually_ brought up a business deal. Like I’m some stupid twink or something. ,” Phichit retorted, swirling the bath bubbles.

“To be fair, you are a twink and you do act stupid,” Celestino admitted, throwing Phichit a smile.

“He even brought up Yuuri,” Phichit admitted.

“Son of a bitch,” Celestino growled, standing up only to realize he was being stupid and sit back down on the floor. “You know that’s not true. Yuuri cares deeply about you.”

“But,” Phichit raised a finger, “Not as much as he cares about Nikiforov.”

Celestino sends him a look, a clear, _you’re being very petty right now_ look, but Phichit couldn’t find it in himself to care, because he owned his pettiness. He was the King of cheery pettiness, and damn it, he wasn’t about to let his crown slip now.

And while he was thinking about it, Yuuri’s idea wasn’t so bad. Well, yes, it was horrible that Yuuri was obsessive and had practically cast Phichit aside. But, the idea itself wasn’t horrible.

“I think it’s time I get a Nikiforov.”

“What?”

“I want a _boyfriend_ , Celestino. And Seung-Gil happens to be my type,” Phichit smirked.

“Are you… Are you serious?” Celestino asked, “The man just gave you a near-panic attack, and you’re trying to trap his ass?”

Phichit giggled at the PA’s incredulous expression.

“Okay, first off, you know that’s been building for the past month. And second, have you seen his ass?”

Celestino groaned, standing up and giving himself the fiercest facepalm Phichit had ever seen. “What the _hell_ , Phichit?”

Phichit grinned, something bright and sharp and conniving.

“Call Yuri Plisetsky and get the brat on a plane. We’re going into business with Axel Pharmaceuticals.”

Celestino huffed, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Phichit grinned, imagining the beautiful sight of Seung-Gil on one knee with a ring in his hand, “And I’m going to make sure that he does, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? Bad? Not as upsetting as I set it up to be?
> 
> Kudos make Celestino just chronically facepalm throughout the rest of the fic.  
> Comments make Yuri P show up in the next chapter.


	5. PA/ Client Privilege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone checks with base, and Yuri is brought on the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THANK ALL OF YOU for your amazing, encouraging words, I really tried to bang this chapter out as soon as possible because of them.
> 
> #brought Yakov on the team.
> 
> I don't have a Beta, so sorry for all the issues!!
> 
> Um. Yeah, enjoy!

Phichit dressed himself in a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a slate grey Versace button-down.

As he calmly brushed eyeshadow onto his eyelid, Celestino was cursing like a mother, throwing clothes into and out of suitcases as he tried to connect a call.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just call him. He gave me his number,” Phichit reminded, judging his cut crease.

Celestino stopped, hanging up the phone to shout, “That screams desperate, okay? We are _not_ having you call him. I’m calling his PA. I’ll tell her you accepted, and then we’ll set up a meeting in New York.”

The Italian man was clearly frustrated, so Phichit did what he always did and spoke honestly.

“That would waste so much time, Celestino. He’s here. I’m here. Let’s _negotiate,”_ Phichit winked, “Because in a couple hours, we’ll be in different time zones. Just imagine the delays we could avoid.”

Celestino shuddered at the word _‘delays’_ like Phichit had cast a demon out of him, but he still held firm to his ground, looking at his boss with firm eyes.

“We _both_ know that you want to beat Nikiforov just as much as you want into Seung-Gil’s pants. And this, calling him now, looks _desperate._ You won’t start negotiations from a point of power, and Seung-Gil doesn’t seem like the type to date down the food chain,” Celestino stated, before turning back around and tapping something out on his phone.

Phichit pouted. He was excited, and he never did well with anticipation. It made him a twitchy mess. Most of the time, acting quickly doubled as efficiency, but in this case, he supposed, it doubled as idiocy.

“Then call her,” Phichit raised an eyebrow, “Her name was Min… Min-something.”

Celestino sighed, “I don’t have her number.”

“Really?”

“There _was_ no need for us to have her number. I can’t reach New York, because you know the shit rerouting going on, and I don’t want to wake someone up.”

 “You know who else would have Min-whatever’s phone number?” Phichit asked with a smirk.

“Seung-Gil, who’s number I hav-“

Celestino snapped his fingers, “Yakov. Good thinking, Chulanont.”

_Yakov?_

“You’d rather talk to _Yakov,_ than my damn boyfriend?” Phichit questioned.

“He’s not your boyfriend. Now, keep packing, while I take this call, and try to keep Yakov off our asses, and we’ll call Plisetsky on the plane,” Celestino threw over his shoulder, walking out of the room to leave Phichit with the mess of clothes and luggage that he’d created during his rant.

Phichit sighed.

_Why do I have so many clothes?_

—

Yakov sighed, glaring at the two idiots adorably curled up in bed together.

On one hand, they had a dinner with Yuuri’s family and friends in two hours.

On the other, they so clearly needed the rest after staying up so late.

_What a dilemma._

“VITYA. WAKE UP YOU LAZY LITTLE SHIT... Yuuri, you should probably wake up as well,” Yakov yelled, only to soften to a calm suggestion.

True to form, Vitya didn’t even move, continuing to snore like an ugly idiot. Yuuri, however, whined, adorably snuggling further into the blankets, quietly demanding another “ten minutes.”

Yakov sighed again, wondering if he could actually give them another ten minutes, glancing at his watch-

_YOU DON'T GOTTA GO TO WORK, WORK, WORK,_

_LET MY BODY DO THE WORK, WORK, WORK,_

“Vitya! What have I told you about changing my ringtone? What is this American garbage?” Yakov shouted, pulling out his phone.

Again, Vitya doesn’t even twitch, while Yuuri made a sad little whine, kicking an irritated foot against the mattress, looking much too adorable for Yakov to keep yelling at him.

“You are lucky your fiancé is cute,” Yakov growled.

“I know,” Yuuri cooed, throwing a blanket over his head.

_I hate both of you._

Yakov picked up his ringing _Niki 5_ phone, frowning at the _Celestino_ shining brightly at him.

“Da?”

The Italian’s voice was crisp and annoying as ever. “Yakov? How are you? Congratulations on the new son-in-law!”

Yakov frowned, “He’s not my son-in-law, yet. The dumbass is too nervous to propose.”

_Maybe I should propose for him?_

“Well, he will be soon, anyway. I was calling to ask for a number,” Celestino said bluntly.

_Note to self: Propose to Yuuri._

 “Whose?”

“Min-So. She’s Lee’s. PA.”

“Why do you need it,” Yakov asked, narrowing his eyes.

If there was any legitimate reason why Celestino could need Min-So’s number, he would have to start damage control. Phichit was Viktor’s direct competition after all, and Axel was Yuuri’s. If they were conspiring, it could cause some serious harm to his children, and Yakov was a most protective father.

_Just try to fuck with me._

“Why do you think? Phichit wants to bang her boss," Celestino groaned, clearly embarrassed and annoyed.

Yakov huffed, all his concerns immediately swept down the drain, as he remembered all the pain Viktor had put him through before he met Yuuri.

_Yakov, I want this model’s number. No, I don’t know their name._

_Yakov, how big do you think his dick is? I’m in the mood to get_ wrecked.

_Yakov, go buy condoms. We ran out. Hurry, my jaws starting to hurt._

Needless to say, Yakov knew way too much about his Boss, and he was endlessly grateful that Yuuri had stopped the need for Yakov to guess people’s dick size.

“Say. Nothing. More. I’m sorry, Celestino. Good luck. I’ll text it to you,” Yakov said, overcome with pity for the fellow PA.

As he sent the text, Yakov shook his head, feeling so much joy that he no longer had to deal with Viktor’s supreme, overly-horny gayness on a daily basis.

_Praise, Yuuri Katsuki. He can sleep for another thirty minutes. He deserves it._

The PA went back to the bedroom to drag Viktor out of bed.

\--

Min-So watched with amused eyes as her boss stumbled into the hotel suite; well, it was a stumble for Seung-Gil. It was a little slip of the foot, a minor catch that the man immediately recovered from, but it spoke volumes.

Seung-Gil walked in straight lines, with an even gait and smooth steps; every one of his movements were efficient, calculated things that flowed from Point A to Point B in uninterrupted curves.

Stumbling? Well, it only meant one thing.

“Did you get _fucked_?” she asked, incredulously, “Should I get you some Tylenol? We both know you’ve been too stiff this week for that to have turned out okay. You know, if you’d told me you were planning on tumbling in Chulanont’s bed, I could have booked a massage beforehand.”

Seung-Gil sent her a look, “I did _not_ get fucked.”

 “Really?” Min-So’s incredulous tone deepened into an impressed one, “ _Damn_. Chulanont’s got some skill, if he got your dick _that_ sore in just an hour.”

Seung-Gil audibly exhaled, turning to look at his PA with firm, flinty eyes and straight lips threatening to twitch in a smile.

“I hate you.”

“You need me.”

“Regardless.”

Min-So got up clicking her laptop closed and walking towards him, smooth clicking steps, her stiletto’s were all fitted with special soles, so they all made the same crisp, hollow cracks that summarized the two of them so well.

“ _Do_ you need something?” she asked, feeling a mild amount of annoyance at whatever was causing her Boss pain.

Privately, she considered Seung-Gil as her cat.

She’d never had a pet, but she imagined it would be somewhat like this. Stop them from tearing up the furniture, keep them healthy, and make sure to give them whatever they need to thrive, and then just sit back, and watch them grow into their claws.

So, she truly didn’t like her little ball of fur limping, though maybe it was more pity than empathy that tickled her heartstrings.

Seung-Gil shook his head, “No. There was no sex.”

Min-So nodded, taking Seung-Gil’s word for it, but confused as hell at why Seung-Gil was acting off, and then she looked him over again.

“Where’s your suit jacket?”

Seung-Gil blushed; his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, as he glanced at the ground, “At the moment? I’m not too sure.”

The PA wanted to cry; as Seung-Gil’s pseudo personal-stylist, she had far more attachment to the clothes she dressed her boss in than he did. So, while he didn’t care, Min-So knew that it was a tailored suit by a master suit maker in Barcelona, hand stitched, one of a kind, and worth twenty-five grand.

She took a great deal of pride in forcing that old Italian man to finish the suit before he kicked the bucket a few days later.

“Where did you last see it?” she asked, taking care to make her voice even and unaffected.

Her boss only flushed deeper, the light shade of pink dusting his cheeks darkened to a dim coral, as he mumbled, “In the back of Chulanont’s car.”

Min-So looked at her untrustworthy cat, glaring with the anger of a scorned pet-owner.

“And you had the _audacity_ to tell me there was no sex?”

"There was no sex!" Seung-Gil shouted like a liar.

"Well, something has you shaken up," she pointed out, not willing to drop the conversation.

Seung-Gil brushed past her, flopping onto a couch and covering his eyes with his arm.

"Phichit felt me up in the middle of the fucking street, okay? And then he stole my fucking jacket. So, I'm  _sorry,_ he threw me off my rhythm. I was supposed to be the seducer, not the seducee. So, unless you know _why_ he felt an overwhelming need to grope my abs, I just want to lie down and process whether or not I liked it. Is that too much to ask?"

Min-So blinked, tucking her phone into a pocket, before moving to sit next to her pouting puppy. "Well. Everyone has an overwhelming urge to grope your abs. They're very gropeable."

Seung-Gil groaned, turning to hide his face in the couch cushion. "Whose side are you on?"

_My god._

_Note to self: Boss reverts to five-year-old's reasoning when emotionally confused._

"I'm not on anyone's side. I'm the voice of reason," she smirked, running a gentle hand through Seung-Gil's hair, "As for whether or not you liked it, I think you know the answer."

"You're right," Seung-Gil peeked up from the couch cushion, "I hated it."

"No!" Min-So said, giving him a salty look, "What? You obviously liked it, you're here, thinking about it. If you didn't like it, you'd be ice-cold right now. Instead, you're all floppy."

"Floppy?"

"Floppy."

Seung-Gil sat back up, slouching in his couch, looking off into the distance, no doubt replaying the scene in his mind, "I want him to do it again. Do you think he will?"

Min-So smiled warmly, trying to sound as encouraging as possible, "I'm sure he will. You were seducing him, weren't you?"

"Good. That would be nice. Should I dedicate more workout time to my core?"

Frantically shaking her head, the PA was overcome with the vision of Seung-Gil with even harder abs than the ones he currently had. 

_My god, he'd be unstoppable._

_He'd look ridiculous as hell, but he'd be unstoppable._

"No. Definitely not," she said, horrified.

After a brief nod, Seung-Gil turned towards her with a hardening expression, eyes growing flinty, back straightening with his usual poise; with his emotional confusion settled, Seung-Gil settled back into the realm of logical, dragging Min-So back with him. "Of course. This changes none of our plans. The goal is Katsuki, and I'm willing to suck Phichit dry, if that's what it takes."

Min-So gave him a genuine smile, sharp with flashing teeth, and ruffling Seung-Gil's hair proudly, "That was never in question."

"Good."

\--

Phichit got on his private plane, pouting at his phone, wanting nothing more than to just call up Seung-Gil and see his pretty face, but he couldn’t, because Celestino had actually taken precautions and deleted his future-boyfriend’s number from his phone.

_I’m not desperate. I’m driven to satisfy my good tastes._

Celestino disagreed.

Seung-Gil’s nice smelling suit jacket that was currently wrapped around Phichit’s shoulders, however? It agreed with Phichit whole-heartedly.

 _How does Seung-Gil smell so nice_?

It was warm, soft and murky smelling. Nothing artificial or overly sweet. Just heavy and warm and natural, with an odd sort of freshness that could lull Phichit to sleep in seconds. It was hard to describe how reassuring it was, how settling and grounding the scent was, but-

“Hey! Hey fuck face! Why’d you call, if you weren’t going to fucking talk to me?”

Phichit glanced back at the TV screen, seeing Dr. Yuri Plisetsky’s face glaring at him. The young blonde genius was clearly in one of the New York labs, reclining on a work desk, tiny gadgets surrounding him on the table.

Yuri had a sort of fluid grace, defined by delicate flicks of his hands and smooth glassy shifts of his legs. He was tiny, bony and slim, underneath that white scientist’s coat, and he should have looked breakable, but the sheer rage and fiery determination that Yuri exuded made him one of the most intimidating people Phichit had ever met.

And it was that emotion that Phichit _loved._ He liked emotional people, people who could chase after something with enough determination to rile up an entire floor of coma patients.

Emotions won people over quicker and easier than anything else, and Phichit considered it a strength rather than a weakness.

“Yuri,” Phichit grinned, “So good to see you. How’s Potya doing? I know she wasn’t settling well into the new apartment.”

Immediately, the young temperamental Russian cooled down, his glare tamed down to a mildly annoyed eye-roll- there was nothing that calmed Yuri down faster than mentioning his cat.

“She’s doing fine now. Thanks for asking,” Yuri looked at him with mock excitement, “Was that it? Can I go?”

Used to dealing with difficult people, Phichit couldn’t find it within himself to be frustrated, he merely giggled, looking at the genius with warm eyes.

“No. Actually, I have a project for you.”

The Russian narrowed his eyes; it was clear that those words set of warning bells in his head.

“No. No, I’m not doing _anything_. That was the deal. I work for you, and you don’t treat me like a fucking show pony,” he rejected, shaking his head.

 “Yuri-“ Phichit tried, only to be cut off.

“ _No_ , I’m not a fucking prostitute, you can’t just whore my mind off to the highest bidder,” Yuri retorted, running an aggressive hand through his hair.

But the worst part was that deep down in those intelligent, emerald eyes, Phichit could see sparks of pain, and _fuck_.

_Oh, my adorable little genius. My hurt little baby. God, I love him so much, this is why I do face to face meetings. You can’t hug a fucking screen._

Yuri had run away from Nikiforov after being treated like a shiny toy: left in a display for months, until he became useful, passed around and around, before being polished and set back aside. He had hardly given a second glance unless Nikiforov was setting his brain up for auction.

Phichit could offer the only thing Nikiforov couldn’t: love.

All Dr. Plisetsky needed was a bit of care and affection, and Phichit always made sure to give that to him in spades. Yuri _needed_ to be respected and valued; he desired special privileges and constant attention, so Phichit carefully given the man all of that.

“Yuri,” Phichit whispered, eyes pricking with the warning of tears, because _he just loved the kid so much._

Phichit could have blinked them away, like a mature adult who disliked showing weakness, but Phichit’s strength had always been wearing his emotions on his sleeve. So, instead, he focused on the guilt, and _what a shit person he was,_ feeling his eyes water. Phichit didn’t blink the tears away, keeping his eyes open, allowing them to build and become more dramatic.

Yuri wanted Phichit’s affection, and this was the easiest way to indulge him.

Phichit’s eyes were glittering manipulatively with unshed tears, with guilt and empathy lightly dusting his face, displaying his emotions to Yuri.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t- I don’t think of you- I _value_ you so much,” Phichit whispered softly, “I swear I didn’t just _give_ you away. It’s a team project. They said what they needed, and I just thought you would enjoy the challenge; I didn’t sell you, I pr-“

 “Tch. Stop crying,” Yuri groaned. The Russian was trying to sound annoyed, but there was an obvious undercurrent of happiness underneath his words.

_Aw. That’s too fucking cute._

“God, you’re more emotional than Katsuki. God. I don’t even understand how you’re _sane_. Just, go on, tell me the project- I’ll consider it.”

Phichit smiled, quickly wiping his wet eyes with fluttering hands, before bouncing into a straighter posture, tugging the suit-jacket tighter around his shoulders.

All the guilt and shame dissolved into nothing as Phichit swirled back into a more positive realm, happy and grateful that Yuri was willing to allow him a chance to pitch an idea that the Russian found intolerable.

_He’s such a good kid. A bit too manipulatable, but then again that does work out in my favor._

“We’re dealing with Axel Pharmaceuticals, or Seung-Gil Lee” Phichit giggled, snuggling further into the Korean’s comfortable suit jacket, “They want to partner on a couple projects. They get your help with their microbots and access to our 2012 patents, we split the profits. And we get consulting on some of ours.”

Yuri cocked his head, frowning, “Deadline?”

Phichit shrugged, “We haven’t talked it over yet. We’re going to be having a meeting in a couple days, so you can be sure to negotiate your terms.”

“Hm. Well, at least it’s something new,” Yuri smirked, “I’ve been getting bored of designing your phones, Phichit.”

Phichit smiled wide, flashing bright teeth, “Let’s just hope you and the man leading the project get along.”

The Russian blinked, smirk frozen on his face, “What? I thought I was the man leading the project?”

“Nope. He’s good, though, whoever he is. Seung-Gil’s number one,” Phichit shrugged, hoping that Yuri wouldn’t make an issue out it.

Yuri glared at Phichit through the screen. “Seung-Gil’s number one is not smarter than _your_ number one. So, no, I’m going to be leading the project. Do you know how _delicate_ this work is going to be? I can’t have a dumbass hanging on my shoulder and fucking shit up.”

Phichit snickered, hiding his smile behind a hand, “Look. At least meet the man. And if you decide that you really don’t like him, I’ll get him kicked off.”

It was a gamble, because Phichit knew there was no way Seung-Gil was going to give up control of his own project, but Phichit also knew that Seung-Gil wouldn’t let anyone but the best run his most important project.

_Seung-Gil let’s hope your good taste in clothes carries over to your employees or we’re fucked._

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” Yuri said, giving Phichit a firm look.

Phichit offered a warm, paternal smile, letting his voice go gooey, “Of course. Anything for you, Yuri.”

“Gross,” Yuri blushed, “Is that it? Can I go?”

“Just make arrangements, manage your schedule, find a replacement for the Tetris project, you know…”

“Basic shit, yeah I know,” Yuri nodded, rolling his eyes and hanging up.

Phichit sighed, leaning back into his chair with a smile.

_My smol son._

“ _Celestino_ , why is Yuri so cuuuute?” Phichit whined.

His PA turned around in his chair, giving him a fierce glare, “I am _not_ helping you win him over. He’s just twenty years old for Christ’s sake.”

Phichit reeled back, shouting incredulously, “What? He’s my damn cinnamon roll, how dare you!”

Celestino shrugged turning back to look at his laptop, “You’re thirsting after a damn sadistic robot. What am I supposed to think, other than that you have low standards and no morals?”

“You know what?” Phichit put up a hand, “Seung-Gil is a hot bastard, okay? I know hetero vision is basically blind, but come on, even you gotta see those sharp cheekbones and think _damn, he could fuck me with those fine things._ ”

Celestino turned around, squinting at his Boss, “No. I don’t want to get fucked with anything. And I _especially_ don’t want to get fucked with Seung-Gil Lee’s cheekbones. What is _wrong_ with you?”

Phichit huffed, curling into his chair and tugging the nice-smelling suit jacket tighter around his shoulders.

“He’s _pretty_ ,” Phichit pouted.

Celestino huffed, “Let’s just stop there, okay? He’s pretty, and full stop. That’s it.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re way too horny to be functioning right now.”

“I’m not horny.”

Celestino turned back to his laptop, putting his earbuds back into his ears, “I’m not arguing with you about how horny you are. So unless you need help with anything, I have to rework a shit ton of meetings.”

 _I’m not horny,_ Phichit grumbled, ducking his nose into the soft, silky fabric and getting a lung-full of Seung-Gil’s fresh, warm scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD? BAD? YURI WASN'T ANGSTY ENOUGH?
> 
> Kudos make Yuri and Otabek immediately thirsty for each other.  
> Comments make them fucking hate each other, but low-key want to bang.


	6. Sue for Emotional Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ: Okay, I'm sorry for being a mess that doesn't plan out her fic before writing it. SO, you remember that family dinner Viktor and Yuuri had to go to in the last chapter? It's like a celebratory engagement dinner. And so, Phichit goes to that first, and then he's going to get on the plane and have that conversation with Yuri.
> 
> So this chapter is that evening before Phichit flies back to New York.
> 
> It's just that I felt there was too much Phichit character building to skip it. I'm sorry!!! Let me know if you have any questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have a beta, so if you see any typos or errors, let me know, so I can fix them! Also, just apologies for my many mistakes.
> 
> Oh, couple notes: I messed with everyone's ages, just so the world makes some semblance of sense. Because Yuri can't have any degrees if he's 15. And Phichit wouldn't be able to create his own company at 20 years old (honestly he couldn't even by 28. but let's roll with it). The main cast is pretty much just seven years older, but the coaches are kinda spread out so:
> 
> Phichit-28  
> Seung-Gil- 29  
> Yurio- 22  
> Otabek-29  
> Yuuri-32  
> Viktor-36  
> Yakov-46  
> Celestino-35  
> Min-So- 29
> 
> (This has been a very long author's note, I'm sorry, let's get on with the story)

\--

“Run!” Phichit dramatically shouted at Celestino, practically jogging into the restaurant, hoping Yuuri was still okay. The dinner wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes so he had time, but Yuuri’s anxiety had a way of setting Phichit on edge.

 “Yuuri?” Phichit called as he burst through the front doors.

In the middle of the room stood Yuuri Katsuki, looking adorable in a simple sweatshirt and jeans and a terrified look on his face.

“Phichit?” Yuuri turned around, before running into Phichit’s open arms, “Oh, my god. Phichit. I can’t do this. I’ve never met his parents. What if they hate me _?_ What if Viktor breaks up with me because his moms hate me?”

Yuuri grasped at Phichit desperately, attempting to find some semblance of comfort from Phichit’s embrace. It was a familiar feeling.

And, it was horrible to think, but Phichit liked it; he liked feeling needed, and he despised himself for it.

Simultaneously, Phichit’s heart _ached_ at the thought of Yuuri dealing with so much stress and anxiety, undervaluing himself to such a degree.

Of course, his first, utmost concern was Yuuri, so Phichit tugged him closer, one hand firmly on Yuuri’s back and the other in his hair, gently leading his friend’s head into his shoulder. Yuuri thrived on physical contact, nothing helped ground him faster, so Phichit made sure Yuuri could feel his embrace, even through the thick fabric of the sweatshirt.

“Shh,” Phichit crooned, heart panging at Yuuri’s insecurities, “They’ll love you. Viktor loves you, doesn’t he? And they love Viktor. So, if A equals B and B equals C, then? Come on?”

“A equals C,” Yuuri mumbled into Phichit’s shoulder.

“See?” Phichit grinned, pulling away slightly to show his confident smile to Yuuri, “Fundamental math principles say that they _have to_ like you.”

Yuuri nodded, still a little jittery, but comfortable enough to pull away and settle for holding Phichit’s hand. “But what if they _don’t_?”

Phichit pressed his lips into a line, feeling so much affection for his best friend and indignation that Yuuri could ever consider himself so little. He squeezed the shit of Yuuri’s hand, unable to restrain his emotions.

“Listen, Yuuri. If you don’t believe in yourself, who will? You know this. Success starts with you. _So_ , you are a wonderful, lovely, beautiful person, and Viktor is very lucky to have you. Just remember that, and Viktor’s moms’ will realize it. And, your fiancé would literally die without you, okay, so, trust me, he’s not going to leave you for anything,” Phichit stated firmly, looking directly into his best friend’s eyes, hoping to god that Yuuri would believe him.

“Okay,” Yuuri whispered, nodding a bit more smoothly.

“Good,” Phichit smiled.

And then, because Phichit still wasn’t satisfied with that sober look on his Bestie’s face, Phichit lifted Yuuri’s hand and poked his nose against Yuuri’s knuckles, before nipping at them.

Yuuri giggled, slapping him away, “Weirdo.”

Phichit offered a warm smile, happiness pooling in his stomach at Yuuri’s laugh, making him tug Yuuri back into a proper hug.

Hugging Yuuri felt like coming home, there was just something about how Phichit slotted between Yuuri’s arms that felt so comforting, so grounding. Yuuri’s hair smelt like some run of the mill shampoo and his skin smelled vaguely of cooking; his skin was warm and smooth, and every little detail just pulled at Phichit’s emotions, making him wish he could just hug his Best Friend forever.

For years, Yuuri had been Phichit’s only family, and now, he was Viktor’s.

But that was fine. Absolutely fine. Phichit was nothing but grateful for Yuuri’s happiness.

Or, at least, that’s the only thing he’d let Yuuri know because there was no way that Phichit was going to sour these moments for Yuuri, not after all those years of bonding between them.

“Where’s Viktor?” Phichit questioned, forcing himself to pull away from the one place he could stay forever.

Yuuri lit up at the name of his fiancé, grinning brightly, “He went to the kitchen to shout at the chef over something stupid. He should be back soon.”

Phichit nodded, sitting on a nearby tabletop and giving Yuuri an encouraging look, “Okay, I know you have something practiced. Hit me.”

With an enormously grateful look on his face, Yuuri sighed his relief, “ _Thank you_. Viktor told me I was just being silly, but I really wanted to have something to fall back on.”

“No problem, Yuuri.”

“How did you know I had something memorized?” Yuuri questioned, running a gentle hand through his floppy hair.

“Just a guess.”

_It’s not like I haven’t done this for you dozens of times._

\--

Viktor’s mothers arrived ten minutes early, walking in smoothly, hand-in-hand with good posture and silent steps, purses in hand.

The Nikiforov couple was a moment.

Viktoria Nikiforov was stern and straight-mouthed, with a straight back and trendy black jumpsuit. Her silver hair was pulled up into a neat bun, showing off her sharp features and gleaming eyes. With her accented English, her words were blunt, heavy things that demanded submission.

She walked up to Viktor and tugged him into a hug, clapping his back, before giving her son a small smile and saying that she was very proud of him.

Sophia Nikiforov, on the other hand, was warm, soft-spoken, and so very gentle. In sharp contrast to her wife, she wore a flowing flower-print dress, and moved demurely next to her wife, holding Viktoria’s hand tightly as they walked in. Her makeup was bright, accented by her wavy caramel hair and bright blue eyes. There was something very _maternal_ in the way she moved.

After Viktoria had greeted Viktor, Sophia gently cupped Viktor’s cheeks, forcing the man to duck his head, so that she could press a kiss to his forehead. After she did, she gave her son a bright smile, saying that she had missed him greatly.

Honest to god, the Nikiforov wives could have been Russian royalty or Beyoncé for the way they subtly commanded the room, immediately drawing attention and wordlessly encouraging everyone to do their bidding.

And either way, it was odd seeing them interact with Viktor.

The tall, confident Russian sex symbol was tamed to a happy-eyed child, hanging onto his mothers’ every word, before eagerly tugging Yuuri forward, presenting Yuuri to them like a kindergartener at show-and-tell.

“Mama, this is Yuuri Katsuki. My fiancé,” Viktor preened, clearly very proud to show off his shiny new fiancé.

Phichit hung back, the room was still empty except for the three Nikiforov’s and Yuuri. He didn’t want to draw needless attention to himself, not when Yuuri was already struggling with his ability to shine. So, instead, he watched with pride as Yuuri greeted them with a few words in Russian before switching back to English.

“It is such an honor to meet you. I respect your work and am just in awe of everything you've accomplished in your life. But, more so, because you helped the love of my life thrive and grow into the person he is today and I could never thank you enough for that. Viktor is the most important thing in my life, and I promise to treat him as such. And I hope, that as Viktor and I create our own family, that you would do me the honor of accepting me in your own.”

The words came out sincere and solemn, and if Phichit had pompoms he’d be shaking them right now, dancing around the room in a tight mini-skirt and a crop top.

  _Give me a Y, Give me a U, Give me a U, Give me a Ri!_

_What does that spell?_

_A smooth mofo that just won his fiance’s parents over._

Expectedly, Sophia’s warm smile flashed teeth, and she delicately fluttered over Yuuri, pulling at his cheeks and brushing through his hair.

“Oh, you’re so cute! I see why Viktor likes you. You’re very respectful, that’s good. My Darling Vitya is very up in the clouds. Sometimes he needs a really good hair tug just to pull him back down,” Sophia confessed with a mischievous smile.

Viktor whined, pulling Yuuri back to his chest, “ _Mama._ Don’t insult me in front of my fiancé.”

Viktoria smirked, mirroring Viktor’s movements and tugging Sophia back to her side, “I do believe that’s why we’re here, Vitya. To see if he’ll stay with you, even after he knows that you had a Barbie shoe stuck up your nose for three weeks when you were thirteen, before you finally worked up the nerve to tell us about it.”

Embarrassed, Viktor ducked his head into Yuuri’s shoulder, hiding his face as Yuuri asked disbelievingly, “Thirteen? I’d get it if you were six or something, but thirteen? _How_?”

There was no response from the embarrassed CEO, so the Nikiforov wives turned their gaze around the room, both of their eyes rested on Phichit almost simultaneously.

“Oh. Mr. Chulanont,” Viktoria greeted, voice underlying with something steely, “Can we help you?”

Phichit glanced at Yuuri, waiting for his best friend to come to his defense, instead Yuuri just looked at him blankly, no doubt conflicted between backing Phichit up and staying in his mother-in-law’s good graces.

_Yuuuuuuuuri._

Phichit gave Yuuri another looking at the three Nikiforov’s who were looking at him like an intruder.

_I should leave._

But leaving, would take away Yuuri’s back up, which was not an option, so instead Phichit took a deep fortifying breath before smiling and walking up to the group.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle anyone. I’m Yuuri’s guest. I’m kinda…”

The title ‘best friend’ died in his throat, as he realized that might just give Viktoria the wrong idea. She was known to be ruthless and shrewd, and the last thing Yuuri needed was extra attention, so Phichit swallowed the words down and wrapped his lips around the bitter words.

“I’m kinda here for the booze. Sorry for getting here too early, I guess I got excited,” Phichit offered a sheepish smile, “But, congratulations on the new addition to your family, Yuuri really is a blessing.”

Yuuri blushed pink, muttering a soft, whiny “stop” to Phichit, while Viktor pecked the Japanese’s cheek in agreement.

Offering a brief nod, Viktoria agreed with a small smile, “You are entirely right. He will be a great asset, I’m sure.”

Something about that rubbed Phichit the wrong way, the way she had just called Yuuri, gentle, sweet, kind Yuuri an _asset_ , instead of a son-in-law.

However, what made him feel even worse was how Viktor just mindlessly nodded to his mother’s words, looking every bit the dutiful son.

And the worst part was Yuuri, whose low self-esteem didn’t even let him notice that Viktoria had just dehumanized him.

_Fuck._

“Well. Of course. But, more than that, I’m sure that Yuuri will bring an abundance of joy and love to your household as a new member of your family,” Phichit corrected with a plastic smile, trying to steer the conversation to a healthier, kinder place.

Sophia smiled softly, like Phichit was an overly pitiful homeless child she was passing on the street.

Viktoria, however, just frowned slightly, silently commanding Phichit to shut up, “Well, yes. Good investments typically bring about happiness, Mr. Chulanont.”

Phichit opened his mouth to argue, because _no way in hell was anyone going to reduce his best friend to a simple investment-_

The door to the restaurant opened, Yuuri’s family pouring in through the doors, and Phichit stepped back with a plastic smile, watching Yuuri reunite with his family.

\--

The rest of the evening was rather uneventful. For Phichit, at least.

He simply sat to Yuuri’s left, a silent reassurance, potentially needed but never quite called upon. Mostly, Phichit just talked to Mari, and subtly redirected conversations a few times.

Every moment that went by with Yuuri turned away was another pinprick to his heart. All he wanted was the tiniest bit of recognition in the face of the Nikiforov’s. He could understand that Viktor had replaced Phichit as the most important person in Yuuri’s life, which was _fine,_ but it was one thing to be downgraded and quite another to be cut out entirely.

Though, he knew that Yuuri wasn’t doing it on purpose, the Japanese man was much too kind-hearted to do anything of the sort, so Phichit couldn’t understand why he felt _so hurt_.

_It wasn’t ill-intentioned. Yuuri still loved him._

But those words didn’t make him feel any better.

Phichit sighed, tuning back into what Mari was saying.

Two hours passed by with Yuuri practically having his back turned to Phichit, as he cooed over Viktor and his mothers, before the Nikiforov women stood up, claiming an important Skype meeting, and leaving as elegantly as they arrived.

And it was only then, did Yuuri definitively _look_ at Phichit. “God,” he confessed, adjusting his glasses, “I was so nervous.”

Phichit smiled, hating that the expression wasn’t genuine, hating that he was so selfish that he couldn’t muster up a hint of happiness for his friend. “You did great. They loved you. I knew you could do it, “ he cheered, making sure to pump as much pride as he could into the words.

Flushing slightly, Yuuri ducked his head, and Viktor immediately capitalized on the lull in conversation, pulling his fiancé back to his chest and whispering something into Yuuri’s ear.

Based on the way Yuuri’s eyes sparkled, Phichit figured Viktor had said something cute, which was lovely, but if only he’d said it when Yuuri had really needed it three hours ago, when he’d been teetering on the edge of a panic attack at the thought of the Nikiforov wives. If only Viktor had been doting then, so that Phichit could at least know that Yuuri didn’t need him anymore.

But Viktor hardly filled the gaps that Phichit would leave behind, leaving him in a torturous limbo where Phichit kept giving affection and never receiving it.

“What about you, Phichit?” Yuuri asked, clearly just trying to distract himself from Viktor’s grabby hands and the anxiety threatening to come back, because _what if his mothers left because they just couldn’t stand him._

“Hm?” Phichit asked, momentarily wanting to watch Yuuri struggle, before the guilt overwhelmed him and he threw the Japanese man a bone, “Not much really. I’m browsing for new projects, maybe transport.”

With a grateful expression, Yuuri turned to look at Phichit, “Oh? Really?”

There was a hint of interest in his tone and Phichit’s heart fluttered to hear it. “Yep. I'm sure there are more ways the 2013 MW chip patents could be used than just making really small phone cameras.”

Viktor lifted his head up from Yuuri’s neck, looking at Phichit with a sharp superior smile, “Well. I’m glad you finally realized your limitations.”

Phichit blinked, incredulous affront bubbling in his chest. “Pardon?”

Yuuri smiled sheepishly, tugging Viktor’s face back into hiding in the crux of his neck, before softly reaching for Phichit’s hand, “Phichit. There’s no need to be so offended.”

“Yuuri. He’s insulting me to my face,” Phichit stated, voice growing louder.

 _You should be angry on my behalf_ , Phichit wanted to spit, but he knew that was rather uncalled for, so he bit his tongue, silently hoping that Yuuri would at least offer some semblance of support.

The CEO watched Yuuri’s face as it slowly filled up with a bitter sort of sympathy. “Phichit. You must know that there’s just no way of you making a sizable profit with your CC’s.”

“What?”

" _Phichit._ You aren’t going to win. There’s no way you’ll ever get fifty percent of the market,” Yuuri whispered, softly, caringly, with eyes full of pity.

“What he means is that you’ve already lost, Chulanont,” Viktor clarified, pressing a soft kiss to Yuuri’s cheek, “There’s a reason Yuuri never partnered up with you for the 7 whole years you two were friends.”

Something in Phichit’s heart irreversibly shattered at the truth of Viktor’s words.

The Russian was looking at Phichit with a bright, razor-tipped smile and eyes full of victory, as if he could  _see_ the cracks he’d made in Phichit’s stupid, breakable heart.

And Yuuri, the man Phichit had valued so much, the man Phichit had practically lived for, the man Phichit had taken an overwhelming amount of effort to nurture and care for, Yuuri just nodded, biting his lip nervously.

Waves of emotion crashed against Phichit, sending him mentally sprawling. Yuuri’s betrayal cut into his back; desolating loneliness made his stomach heavy; a sense of inferiority pulled the floor out from underneath him; confusion had his head humming the beginnings of a headache; concern had his fingers twitching to reach out and stop Yuuri from _fucking_ hurting his lip.

In the end, Phichit couldn’t understand just what he’d _done_ to deserve this treatment.

His eyes pricked with the threat of tears, and Phichit blinked them away, clearing his throat and looking Yuuri in the eyes. He wouldn’t be cowed, not even by his best friend.

If Phichit’s smile fell, they’d win, so he put all his focus in keeping his lips upturned.

“Oh?” The words flew out on auto-pilot, distant and foreign, as if someone else was saying them. “I never realized. I suppose I got off easy then, withdrawing before the trophies were handed out.”

Viktor laughed, clearly enjoying Phichit’s fake smile; the Russian pulled Yuuri closer to his chest, tucking the Japanese man underneath his chin.

“Well, if we’re being honest; the trophies have been handed about quite a few times, it’s just that you were too blind from ambition to notice,” Viktor hummed, taking care to rub salt in Phichit’s wounds.

Swallowing his pain, Phichit’s smile went mild, as he forced out a hollow, “Oh?”

Viktor opened his mouth to no doubt say something else, but Yuuri’s phone rang, blaring out a poppy Japanese song, an alarm for something random, which gave Phichit the excuse to glance at his phone.

The screen was full of various emails and missed calls, though they were mostly useless, Phichit still widened his eyes, frantically tapping out for Celestino to send a car, before hitting call, muttering curses under his breath.

“Celestino? How did that _happen?_ ” Phichit emphasized, playing up the incompetence that Yuuri and Viktor thought he had.

“What? What are you talking about? Are you okay?” his PA asked. His voice was full of concern, and Phichit ached with the need to be hugged.

_Please. Please. Please Please._

Phichit swallowed a whimper, turning it into a cough, before asking ignorantly, “Are you sending the car over? Are you _sure_ I can’t stay? It’s Yuuri’s engagement celebration… _Fine._ That’s so stupid.”

He didn’t have to raise his voice or drop any hints. Viktor and Yuuri were intelligent people, they could make their own deductions from the call. All Phichit had to do was fall into their pre-imposed assumptions, and they’d hardly think anything of it.

Celestino, having understood what was going on at this point, lowered his voice, “A car will be over there in five minutes, I promise. Get up and wait outside. There’s no need for you to stay there, okay?”

Phichit chirped an “okay” before turning back to Yuuri and Viktor.

“I have to go. I’m so sorry, but there’s an issue with the New York office,” Phichit lied, still smiling apologetically, even though he just felt like _jumping off a cliff, because maybe if he didn’t exist then maybe this would hurt less._

With an expression that used to make Phichit’s heart crumple, Yuuri’s eyes watered, the easy arrival of tears being a side effect of the multiple glasses of wine. “You’re leaving?” he whispered, “Do you have to? Phichit _,_ I haven’t seen you in months.”

 _Thank god_ , Phichit thought bitterly.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” he repeated.

“It’s my engagement party,” Yuuri said, trying to guilt trip him.

“Be more considerate, Yuuri,” Viktor chided, “ChuChu isn’t nearly as solid as HM or _. Really, it’s a good thing that he’s being so vigilant; he needs to be.”

 _I mean, he’s not wrong,_ Phichit admitted bitterly, desperately trying to find the line between being honest and self-hatred, and finding that Viktor had blurred it into nothingness over the duration of this conversation.

“Oh right,” Yuuri agreed, “Sorry for being inconsiderate, Phichit. Your  company could dissolve any second, of course, you have to be overly vigilant.”

_Your company could dissolve any second._

_Just how long have you thought that, Yuuri?_

With the last remnants of his self-control, Phichit stood up and tugged Yuuri up with him.

“I really do have to go, but I’m _so_ very happy for you, Yuuri, my precious little cinnamon roll,” Phichit’s voice automatically mellowing.

 Despite everything, warmth still lit the broken cavern of his chest when he looked at the Japanese man. Hating himself, Phichit pulled Yuuri into a tight hug, breathing in that familiar smell of home, and desperately trying not to cry.

_Fuck. Please. Please. Please._

He didn’t even know what he was begging for, but…

“Yuuri. I love you so much. You know that, right?” Phichit asked, pressing the soft words into his best friend’s shoulder, needing for this one thing to be a surety between the two of them.

“Of course. I love you, too,” Yuuri replied, confused.

Phichit swallowed, nodding, the barest smile on his face, “Good. I just wanted you to know that. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

_No, I won’t. I won’t do this to myself again. I can’t. I won’t._

Yuuri smiled, “Good. You better.”

Phichit nodded again, “Bye, Viktor. Congratulations.”

Viktor nodded, smirking, as he took Yuuri’s hand and pulled the Japanese back to the table. “Bye, Phichit,” he dismissed, taking another bite of his food.

Yuuri followed suit, turning back to his dinner, and Phichit did his best to hold it together.

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Keep smiling. It doesn’t matter, keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling._

He managed to succeed until he got to the car.

\---

Phichit silently stared off into the distance, a soft, fluffy robe wrapped around him and Kpop blaring in his ears, as he cuddled into Celestino’s side.

His boss had walked into the hotel room with tear tracks on his cheeks and dry, red eyes.

Phichit had moved almost robotically as he grabbed his self-care staples, before he’d tugged Celestino onto the bed, and wrapped the Italian’s arms around him.

Celestino had gotten the hint, pulling Phichit into a tight hug, and wondering just what the _fuck_ Katsuki had managed to do in three hours to hurt Phichit this bad.

If there was one thing Celestino knew about Phichit, is that while he was an overly emotional person, there was very little that he truly cared about. Phichit felt a shit ton of emotions on a very shallow level.

Anything could make him cry, anything could get him excited, but the Thai man had a strong grip on those sorts of emotions; he could control them with scary levels of manipulation. He could decide to cry or to blink away tears; he could dissolve his excitement and become serious at the drop of a hat.

But, when it came to things like his company or Yuuri, Phichit was almost a slave to his emotions, loving so deeply, almost to an obsessive level about the things close to him. They gave him panic attacks. They caused soul-shattering insecurities. They fringed at the edges of Phichit’s sanity and mental health, building up and weighing him down.

Phichit’s love was self-destructive.

Celestino hugged his Boss tighter, wishing more than anything that he could stop the man from hurting.

\---

An hour later, Phichit hesitantly left Celestino’s side, rolling his shoulders and wiping his face, before giving his PA a warm smile, “Let me wash my face, and then we can leave for the airport? Tears make my skin so sticky. It’s gross.”

Celestino nodded, pretending like he didn’t know anything was wrong.

“Okay, Chulanont. We don’t want you getting acne.”

Phichit nodded playfully, before he walked into the bathroom.

Celestino sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache throb at his temples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of Otayuri. That's up next I PROMISE. LIKE IT'S ALREADY HALF-WRITTEN AND IT'S CRINGY AF AND CUTE AND I'M SORRY.
> 
> Kudos make Celestino and Min-So hate each other.  
> Comments make them start a support group for over-worked PA's


	7. Who's topping?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting happens. Phichit's thirsty. Seung-Gil is realizing just how gay he is. Yuri is blushing. Otabek is a fanboy. The PA's hate each other. It's a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. #back again with another one. Like. I'm back. This chapter is huge, btw. I really wasn't expecting this to be as big as it is, but *shrugs* what can you do? 
> 
> Not even like 24 hours later, or whatever, and I'm sending this out. Gosh, I'm a little proud of myself.
> 
> Right now, just btw, Phichit is in New York. Seung-Gil is in London.

Phichit organized his papers in front of him, looking over everything one last time.

_Talking points, references, contract, research._

Even Phichit himself was prepared, wearing one of his best suits, and a bright coral button down that complimented his warm skin and high-key implied Phichit’s unending gayness.

He had really really wanted to wear Seung-Gil’s suit jacket, but Celestino reminded him that Phichit pretty much stole the jacket from Seung-Gil, and it likely wouldn’t be a good idea to remind his future boyfriend of that fact.

Also, Phichit had pretty much cuddled that suit jacket every single night, so Seung-Gil’s lovely, soothing scent had faded from the fabric days ago, smothered underneath the strong, sweet perfumes that Phichit regularly used.

Celestino glanced at the clock, before pointedly looking at the empty seat to Phichit’s left, where Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit’s main micro-welding consultant was supposed to be.

There was plenty of time, of course. Phichit was always early to everything, punctuality being something he valued very much, so they would be able to patiently wait another fifteen minutes before being forced to continue without the little genius.

“You don’t think he got caught down in the lobby, do you?” Phichit questioned, pursing his lips, “He does have a very unique dressing style.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time it’s happened. Once, the young man had shown up to a meeting in a cheetah print crop-top, denim shorts, and fishnet, and his usual white doctor’s coat. Yuri had gotten all the way to the elevator before security had attempted to drag him off, thinking he was some kind of partly-clothed flasher.

Of course, Phichit didn’t have a strict dress code for his buildings, and he welcomed diversity of all sorts, but Yuri always seemed to purposely go out of his way to separate himself from the throngs of Phichit’s suited employees in the most dramatic ways possible.

Celestino huffed, tapping something out on his laptop, “If he’s wearing that mesh top again, I swear to _god,_ I will personally rip that thing off of him and incinerate it."

Phichit smiled, “You should take him to your tailor. I don’t think he has many proper suits, as it is.”

His PA only sent him a glare, silently reaffirming that Celestino’s tailor was a holy man, and that the Italian would guard the sanctuary within an inch of his life from the unworthy.

And, Yuri, the man who once said that suits reminded him of a shitty combo of newspapers and Tetris, was most definitely not worthy.

Phichit rolled his eyes, settling back into his seat and pulling out his phone, muscle memory making his thumb open Instagram.

He briefly scrolled through his feed.

_JJ’s on vacation?_

_Mila and Sara make such a cute couple. I want a spouse._

_Damn, Beyoncé looks bomb in that dress._

Phichit kept scrolling, until he froze, looking at a very familiar picture of him and Seung-Gil, illuminated in bright, natural light, smiling at the camera cutely. It was the selfie from their lunch a week ago.

It was a simple picture, much too focused on their faces to provide a lot of information, except for the fact that Seung-Gil had lovely, beautiful, gorgeous cheekbones that Phichit wanted to _bite_.

There were quite a few comments pointing out how while Seung-Gil looked Daddy af in his expensive navy suit, Phichit looked like he’d just stepped out of a 2013 Adidas commercial.

And looking back at the photo, he did have to suppress a cringe at the sight, disliking how drabby he looked next to Seung-Gil, but not overly bothered by it. If Phichit wanted to look nice, he would. He just happened to have other priorities that day than looking like a supermodel.

Phichit clicked his tongue, _its fine_.

He clicked on Seung-Gil’s profile, a bit disappointed to see that the Korean’s number of followers had only jumped to .7 million.

_I’ll have to name drop him again, maybe post that selfie on my page, too._

Phichit typed out a reminder for himself, determined to get his damn boyfriend to 5 million followers.

_What if we both had the same number of followers? Wouldn’t that be adorable?_

But, that would be no small feat, Phichit frowned. He was the 7th most followed person on insta, after all; Phichit had over 100 million followers, and while he was talented, he wasn’t _magical_.

 _Hm_.

Though, luckily enough, there was another week of Phichit’s preselected posts, before he really had to worry. Because he was sure that Seung-Gil wasn’t going to post anything himself; the man seemed to only be indulging Phichit for the face value of the gesture.

 _Fucker prefers that old-ass platform,_ Phichit cursed Viktor and his stupid tweeting shit for possibly the millionth time.

The CEO was about to ask Celestino the legalities of possibly deleting Seung-Gil’s twitter account,  only to be interrupted by the door clicking open, Yuri stepping inside with a sharp smile on his face.

His shiny blonde hair was combed back into a messy bun, showing off those cute cheekbones and mossy-green eyes. Thankfully, the Russian was wearing a sleek pair of navy slacks and a black button-down, though whatever professional quality those clothes had were canceled out by the three open buttons and the flowery, silky kimono robe he wore on top.

He looked at long-limbed and bird-boned as ever, stepping inside with a dancer’s grace and slamming the door behind him like a wrestler.

Immediately, Phichit stood up, tucking his forgotten phone into a pocket with a wide beaming smile on his face and his arms outstretched.

“Yuri!” he squealed, “Oh, it’s so good to see you again!”

Before Yuri could even react, Phichit bundled the younger in a tight hug, rocking them side to side, and just feeling so much paternal pride towards the blonde, nuzzling a nose into Yuri’s soft hair and cooing. They were about the same height, unfortunately, so no matter how desperately he wished to, he couldn’t tuck the Russian underneath his chin.

It was nice to hug someone. Though, it wasn’t even close to the comfort of his best friend’s embrace, hugging Yuri was still very nice. There was something very comforting about feeling the Russian’s sharp bones poke into his chest and arms, like Yuri was delicate, as if he needed Phichit to protect him.

Yuri allowed the embrace for a couple seconds, patting Phichit on the back a few times, before attempting to pull away. Loosening his grip, Phichit let Yuri step back, taking the moment to look the man over.

“Yuri,” Phichit sighed happily, brushing his hands across the younger’s shoulders.

_He didn’t even dress like garbage today. I’m such a proud father._

“God, you’re acting like you haven’t seen me in years,” Yuri grumbled, crossing his arms.

Rolling his eyes, Phichit pouted playfully, booping Yuri on the nose, “Don’t start. I’m allowed to love on my cinnamon roll as much as I want.”

Yuri blushed, looking at the ceiling, “I still don’t like that name.” His cheeks were lightly dusted with a pink flush, making look embarrassed and childlike all at once.

“Oh my god! My baby is so _cute!_ ” Phichit crooned, reaching out to pinch the Russian’s blushing cheeks, just needing to touch the man’s adorable fucking face.

 _I just want to crush him to bits_.

But Phichit restrained himself from carrying out that desire.

“Okay,” Yuri slapped the Thai’s hands away, even though the Russian had a small, pleased smile on his face, “Okay, that’s enough.”

Phichit giggled sitting back down at the head of the table, motioning for Yuri to do the same.

“I don’t think I’ve made this very clear, but you do realize that the main goal of this project is to shove Viktor out of this sector?” Phichit questioned, looking at Yuri with concerned eyes.

The last thing Phichit would want is for Yuri to realize halfway through, and then be overwhelmed with guilt for having a direct hand in delivering a blow to History Maker Inc, his own cousin’s company.

Instead of any degree of shame, Yuri’s face brightens up with an adorable breed of sadistic determination, it sharpens his smile and crinkles his eyes, as the Russian tilted his head to face Phichit, “Why do you think I’m here, idiot? Viktor isn’t ever going to have a damn _chance_ of catching up when I’m done with him.”

“That’s my smol son.”

Yuuri scoffed, pointedly not responding to the nickname, looking across the table to see the assortment of sweets and coffee set out. Yuri had a heavy sweet tooth and a killer metabolism, so the young man usually found no problem in indulging himself at every turn.

“Fuck yes. _Doughnuts_ make literally everything better,” Yuri groaned, standing up and pilling three sprinkled doughnuts on top of each other on a plate, pausing, and then grabbing another.

Phichit shuffled a stack of papers around, double checking everything before facing Celestino, who was looking at his Boss with an expression that clearly said _really?_

_As if Celestino had any room to talk._

Celestino babied Phichit to an extensive degree, providing his boss with all sorts of luxuries and personal care twenty-four hours a day. All Phichit did was pinch Yuri’s cheeks every once in a while.

“How about we go ahead and call them?” Phichit suggested.

“Let’s fuck Viktor _up_ ,” Yuri muttered around a bite of sprinkled doughnut, as Celestino dialed into the conference call.

The screen opened up to a stark, black and white conference room. Grey walls, sharp lines, a heavy black wood conference table. Seung-Gil sat at the head, wearing those large, circular, wire-rimmed glasses and a sexy, tight white turtleneck with a black suit, looking like Phichit’s fucking _daddy._

Min-So sat in front of a ChuChu laptop, looking intimidating as all hell in a silky white blouse and pin-straight black hair. And then, the man he assumed to be Otabek sat in a simple button-down, with the posture of a soldier.

In summation, they looked like a squad of monochromatic, corporate vampires.

_Jesus. Maybe we should start matching like that. We don’t look nearly as squad-like as they do._

\--

Seung-Gil glanced at Min-So, “My hair looks good?”

She sends him a _you’re-so-cute-and-so-dumb-at-the-same-time_ look, nodding slowly, “It better. It’s damn expensive hair gel.”

Seung-Gil nodded, “Good.”       

Phichit seemed to like his hair last time, and Seung-Gil would be an idiot to not play up his best features. He briefly considered forgoing his suit jacket, as Phichit clearly seemed to prefer him with as few clothes covering his chest as possible, but had ultimately decided that it wasn’t worth the unprofessional look.

So instead, he just wore one of his plain black and white suits, black slacks, black jacket, white turtleneck. It was easy, simple, and a clear sign that he had dressed himself this morning instead of Min-So.

A tablet sat in front of him, a soft copy of all the needed documents pulled up into a sleek, condensed PDF, and next to it was his 7CC, on silent, displaying the time of 10:52.

Min-So sat to his left, back straight, and a small, confident smile on his lips, as she typed something up on her CC Syrian laptop; every once in a while, her eyes would flick towards Seung-Gil, as if making sure he was behaving himself.

Otabek sipped at his coffee, silent and stiff; his eyes were focused on a faraway point, not even acknowledging Seung-Gil’s words. The Doctor was stoic, in a more dazed and confused way than Seung-Gil.

Otabek was always polite, and he hardly ever spoke unless spoken to, instead just standing aside and watching as people interacted around him. The Doctor was someone who analyzed the situation, reanalyzed the situation, and then carefully crafted his words before speaking.

It was near impossible to misinterpret Otabek’s words or to hear any sort of inflection in his tone, and Seung-Gil appreciated that quality in a direct subordinate. The man spoke in facts and sure truths or not at all.

He wore a simple black slacks and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up. Otabek disliked dressing up formally unless the situation absolutely required it, and it was one thing that Seung-Gil had decided not to micro-manage about the man.

“They’re late,” Seung-Gil stated, glancing his phone that now read 10:58.

Min-So flicked her eyes in his direction, giving him a look that clearly said _behave_ , before turning back to her laptop, answering with a cool tone, “They have two minutes to still be early. And then they have another minute to be precisely on time. And then they have five minutes to be decently on time. If they don’t call in eight minutes, then they’re late. And it’s only after eight minutes that you reserve the right to complain about it. So, please, control yourself.”

Seung-Gil leaned back in his chair, feeling sufficiently chastised by her words.

Otabek didn’t look Seung-Gil’s way, though he did blink rapidly at the CEO’s words.

The Korean was about to pick up his phone and try to take a selfie for Insta, figuring that popularity on that social platform would likely aid in wooing the Thai CEO over, before-

_BRINGGG_

Min-So clicked her tongue, glancing towards Seung-Gil for permission, before accepting the call.

The screen blinked open to a bright canary yellow conference room; three people were seated at the head of a sleek glass table. There was a shit ton of brightly colored food displayed in the corner of the screen, and pops of color glinted across the room, from Yuri’s pink over-coat thing, to the minimalist ChuChu promotional posters, to Phichit’s lime green laptop.

_God. I think I’m going to go blind._

“Seung-Gil!” Phichit called happily, waving a hand far too quickly for the decent connection to capture.

A near wince shuddered down the Korean’s spine at the sound of his first name used so casually in a business setting.

_Fucking Americans._

“Phichit,” Seung-Gil answered, placing a warm smile on his face, though his slightly warm tone came all on its own.

“Right, so,” Phichit pointed to his right, “This is my lovely PA Celestino, I’d be an unorganized, spastic mess without him. And _this_ adorable one is the man himself Dr. Yuri Plisetsky.”

Seung-Gil watched as Celestino gave a pleased smile and Yuri rolled his eyes at Phichit’s words.

_Perhaps, I could steal Yuri from underneath Phichit’s nose, the kid clearly doesn’t like him._

Seung-Gil nodded, “Nice to finally meet both of you. This is Ms. Park, my personal secretary. And, this is Dr. Altin, the lead scientist on the Band-aid project.”

Phichit grinned, ducking his head slightly in greeting, “It’s so lovely to meet both of you. I’ve heard great things. So, just in case it wasn’t clear, I’m interested in doing business with you.”

Min-So’s ears perked up at the odd wording, tilting her head, she nonchalantly tried to pin the man down in more concise wording, “So you agree to the terms we drew up?”

Smiling brightly, almost bimbo-like, Phichit repeated, “I’m interested in doing business with you.”

_And damn it, if that show of intelligence wasn’t one of the cutest things Seung-Gil had ever seen._

_Well, it’s not that cute._

_Okay, it’s a tad cute._

Though, he had to wonder if Phichit purposely tried to make people underestimate him or if it was just an instinctual behavior, and he wasn’t quite sure which one would have more interesting.

“Pardon?” Min-So asked, her soulless black eyes boring at the Thai man, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

That was the look that brought people to their knees. Seung-Gil had seen people break down into _tears_ from that look. It was the look that had gotten her hired.

But Phichit?

Phichit just blinked, hints of smugness tracing his lips before he looked away, practically ignoring Min-So’s gun muzzle eyes. The CEO glanced down at his papers, flipping through a stack as he said amiably, “Not to worry, let’s discuss this first. I don’t like skipping around too much- gets too confusing.”

_Wait, what?_

Min-So and Seung-Gil exchanged wide-eyed looks, hidden from the camera by her hair and his hand, both of their incredulity shining brightly in their eyes silently asking each other _just what the fuck_

A part of him fluttered pathetically at Phichit’s effortless rejection of Min-So’s glare.

The majority of him, however, began genuinely taking Phichit seriously as a potential opponent; Seung-Gil forced himself to settle into a manipulative mindset, sinking and sinking, until he was wondering just _who the hell did this bitch think he is?_

“Alright, let’s go in order then,” Seung-Gil granted with a sharp smile, knowing the mild leniency would only aid him in securing terms that were skewed his way.

Phichit ducked his head in thanks, before putting his elbows on the table and propping his chin on top of his hands, “Right. Well, first things first, I’d like to get Yuri’s employment details out of the way. I want you to match his current salary and pay for his living expenses. He’ll be getting the same benefits and privileges that Dr. Altin receives, as well as a bonus for his troubles, though that can be given at the end of the fiscal quarter.”

Well.

That was hardly anything.

They both knew that. It was odd that Phichit was fighting for it so publicly, instead of just sending the details, but Seung-Gil wasn’t just going to give Phichit an easy win, no matter how small the request.

Seung-Gil was on high enough alert to _know_ there had to be a reason for it.

“And why exactly should I give Dr. Plisetsky a bonus just for doing his job?” he questioned.

“ _Because_ ,” Phichit stressed almost childishly, “He’s had to drop his current project and put it on a six-month hiatus. He’s moving to London with hardly any warning. Not to mention, the sheer _emotional distress_ he’s going to have to undergo from moving so far away from his father.”

As Phichit spoke, Yuri had a resigned look on his face, like he was used to the excessive amounts of coddling that Phichit subjecting him to; though at the word ‘London’ his face scrunched up.

“I have to move to that rainy hellhole?” Yuri groaned, slumping sloppily in his chair.

 “Well, we aren’t going to move an entire team of one-hundred and thirty people solely for your benefit,” Seung-Gil frowned, wondering how a world-renowned genius could possibly be so stupid.

_Also, wouldn’t rain be considered a blessing in hell? Technically speaking._

“I know that,” the Russian growled, glaring at Seung-Gil.

“Then don’t complain,” Phichit retorted playfully, “You’re making me look like a bad parent.”

Yuri turned his glare at Phichit, slapping the glass tabletop, “Could you _not_? Hm, Phichit? Just maybe? Could _just_ we not?”

With a sheepish look on his face, Phichit gave Yuri a quick throw-away apology, before turning back to Seung-Gil, “Those are my final terms. I’d rather not compromise on them. Yuri means a lot to me, and I want to ensure that he’s taken care of.”

And that’s when Seung-Gil understood.

This wasn’t for Phichit’s benefit. This wasn’t to gain an upper hand in negotiations. This was solely to manipulate Yuri. And, Seung-Gil had _helped_.

By arguing with Phichit on these very simple, very _grantable_ terms instead of immediately conceding, Seung-Gil had practically offered Phichit a moment for the Thai man to stand up for the Russian genius.

 _Damn_ , Seung-Gil admired, mildly aroused.

In the same conversation, Phichit had both reaffirmed his relationship with Yuri _and_ ensured that there was no chance in hell of Seung-Gil poaching Yuri while he was in London.

As Seung-Gil was trying to figure out whether or not Phichit had enough manipulative bones in his body to have actually planned this out beforehand, Min-So recovered quickly, humming nonchalantly as she typed something up in her laptop.

“If that’s a hard demand,” Min-So drawled, “Then we’ll match it.”

Phichit raised his eyebrow, looking directly at Seung-Gil, silently asking for the CEO’s confirmation.

“We’ll match it,” Seung-Gil repeated firmly, taking care to not show any of his emotions.

\--

Phichit grinned, bouncing once as he clapped his hands together, feeling proud about his victory.

“Okay, well, I don’t want to go into specific project management. I trust both Yuri and Otabek can come up with their own goals, and relay those back to us at a later date,” Phichit switched topics.

It was standard procedure at ChuChu contraptions. After all, there was no way Phichit was going to remember the specific dates or hierarchy discussed during this meeting anyway, so there was hardly any point to bring them up. As long as everyone did their jobs, Phichit couldn’t give a shit.

However, the three people on the screen clearly didn’t think the same way.

Min-So was blinking rapidly like something was stuck in those fucking scary ass eyes of hers.

Seung-Gil was switching between a confused smile and a confused frown.

Otabek, the fucking robot, was a tad stiffer than he’d been a moment ago.

Min-So couldn’t hold back her words, “Well, it would be lovely if the world could run on trust, but we need to set some definite guidelines.”

Immediately standing up to the other PA, Celestino retorted, glaring daggers at the woman, “Setting such minor guidelines is a waste of their time. ChuChu has over 25 projects of this scale occurring at the same time, and Chulanont has more important things to do than spend an hour micromanaging two very competent people.”

Clicking her laptop closed, Min-So sent the full force of her glare towards Celestino, “Mr. Lee’s schedule is organized in order to be as efficient as possible. Knowing minor details allows him to make more informed decisions in major conundrums, though I understand that _some people_ might not be capable of keeping up such a demanding schedule.”

The PA’s were glaring at each other, both clearly offended at the other’s scheduling techniques. Celestino’s hands were twitching like he was ready to fight a bitch. Min-So was biting the inside of her cheek, showing the most emotion Phichit had ever seen on her face.

“Pardon?” Celestino’s Italian accent becoming more prominent, “I don’t know what your experience has been, but I find that efficient individuals don’t need to know minute decisions in order to make sweeping decisions. They can analyze trends and make intelligent estimates.”

“People need to be held _accountable_. Every single person is a gear that needs to turn in order to keep this company functioning, and the only way to do that is to keep track of what they’re doing,” Min-So fired back, her manicured nails tapping harshly against the tabletop.

Scoffing at her words, Phichit leaned back in his chair, “That’s not my responsibility. I’m not a babysitter. We’re adults, and I expect them to meet the expectations I set. If they don’t, that’s when I interfere.”

Seung-Gil gave him a look, full of narcissism and sadism, “If someone doesn’t meet my expectations, they’re _fired._ ”

_Oh. Okay. That’s some BDSM shit right there._

_Give this man a whip, Jesus, my ass doesn’t hurt nearly enough right now._

_Damn, I feel like my ass should be on fire._

_I feel guilty for not being in pain._

_Oh my god._

Phichit blinked, trying not to squirm in his seat; he exchanged looks with Celestino, the man looking at him with visible concern, before looking back at the conference screen.

“Well. Now I know why people call you the Terminator, at least,” Phichit cooed, trying hard not to melt, “But, really, you aren’t going to fire Yuri and Otabek, so let’s put away the threats for a second and just move on-”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Seung-Gil asked, brows furrowing.

Yuri turned to look at Phichit with a _what-the-fuck-bro_ look on his face, and Phichit sent a _fuck-I-don’t-know-but-I’m-still-turned-on_ look in return, praying that the Russian would stay silent and not explode into a nuclear bomb of profanities.

Otabek, the man whose job is currently being threatened, simply sat there, unmoved, looking bored as all hell. _What the fuck is wrong with that one?_ Phichit had to wonder, looking at the man with concern.

“Um,” Phichit paused, bemused as fuck at what Seung-Gil was implying, “Because they’re far too important? We pay them millions of dollars for a reason…”

Seung-Gil leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, radiating some high-key _call-me-daddy_ vibes, with that sexy turtleneck, as he bluntly said, “Everyone one is expendable. We pay them millions to do their jobs. If they stop completing their tasks on time, in the level of quality I expect, there’s no reason to pay them at all.”

_He’s…_

_Oh, fuck, I’ve gotten in bed with an apathetic narcissist._

_Spank me, sir. Please. Can he? Please?_

Phichit suppressed the urge to shout _take me Daddy,_ though he couldn’t suppress the urge to fan himself. “Is it hot in here?” he asked Yuri.

Yuri gave him a disgusted ‘ _tch’_ , refusing to answer Phichit’s thirsty question.

Celestino just glared at him, whispering harshly, “Stop. Okay? Just. _Stop_. This meeting’s being recorded.”

Phichit rolled his eyes, before sighing, shoving his arousal to the back of his mind, “We’ve gotten off topic. We can discuss specific details at a later time. Regardless, I’m a bit confused on the project in general, so if we could fix that first. That would be lovely.”

Phichit purposely made himself weaker, giving the Korean’s the illusion of a position of power, all the while, redirecting the conversation in the direction he desired.

Seung-Gil made an elegant go-ahead hand motion.

Phichit nodded with fake gratitude, before looking at Dr. Altin, “Otabek. I’m sorry to put you on the spot, but I was wondering if you could speak a bit more on just what exactly you hope to accomplish with this project and what support you’d need from my end? I skimmed the packet you sent over, but I’m more of an auditory learner.”

 At the sound of his name, Otabek’s straight posture straightened even further, as if he was a soldier being called to attention. It was entirely unnerving and Phichit would have hit him over the head for being so fucking weird, if he could have done it through the damn screen.

Otabek didn’t even _hesitate_ as he immediately rolled into an articulate explanation. Phichit hated that shit.

 “The current Band-aid project is based around clotting factors. These small microbots are meant to function as hyperactive platelets. So instead of pumping packet upon packet of blood into a patient on the verge of bleeding out, wasting both resources and time, not to mention being very inefficient, these should clot far better than the body’s natural platelets. So, at the very least, the patient bleeding out will not be the forefront concern of a surgeon trying to save their patient’s lives. Additionally, if we can reduce the size enough, it can be marketed to hemophiliacs, as an emergency resort. We need to reduce the size by seventy percent and make them entirely biodegradable in order for us to feel comfortable releasing them to market.”

As Otabek spoke, Yuri perked up, cocking his head and typing a note on his phone. Though, at hearing the figure 70%, he interrupted Otabek, “Seventy percent is a big ask. That’s practically just going to leave your slate and outer shell.”

And like a nit-picky bitch, Otabek corrected, “The slate and outer shell make up fifteen percent.”

Greatly disliking being corrected, Yuri glared, answering in a sugary-sweet tone, “ _Regardless_ ¸ the sentiment is the same. I’m not sure how you expect me to pull reductions out of my ass.”

Otabek’s eyes were bright, alert with something that Phichit couldn’t quite distinguish, “This is your specialty, isn’t it? Reductions. You gave the five millimeters wide 7CC a processor that supports hyper-threading, after all. That was ground-breaking work, and I’m just asking you to the something similar here.”

Yuri scoffed, pretending to be unaffected, though a light blush dusted his cheeks at the compliment, “Minimizing is my specialty, but I’m not… How much for hemophiliac applications?”

“Eighty percent,” Otabek answered.

Yuri blinked, “And how much of it currently, is biodegradable?”

Otabek frowned, “Ninety-two. We’ve been having issues with the processor.”

“Which is my specialty,” Yuri clarified, following Otabek’s reasoning.

Otabek looked at Yuri, barest hints of a smile on his face, eyes crinkling, “Exactly. You were the perfect fit. Not to mention your previous work in cancer treatments a couple years back with the YumYoung Corporation.”

“How did you know? My name wasn’t on the credited list. I left two years before that application ever entered market,” Yuri questioned, brows furrowing.

Now, it was Otabek’s turn to blush, and it finally clicked in Phichit’s head. _Oh fuck, he’s a goddamn Plisetsky fanboy. Jesus Christ. How is that even a fucking thing?_

“Your name might not have been on the credited list, but your signature was all over the internal incubator. Your heat resistance measures are rather unique,” Otabek fawned, somehow still looking stern as he admitted to knowing the unique way Yuri made his _fucking heat resistance measures._

 _Damn_ , Phichit thought, _what a nerd._

“Well, what you have so far, sounds impressive as fuck,” Yuri grinned, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, just reveling in the compliments, “I’ll review the packet later, but I think I know who and what I’m going to bring over.”

Yuri and Otabek just looked at each other silently, and Phichit looked at them, waiting for someone to say something, but they didn’t. They just looked at each other. Like weirdos.

_Like you can fucking talk Phichit. You fucking felt Seung-Gil up in the middle of the street like some kind of sex-addict._

“Well. If Yuri’s sold, then I suppose I am, too. Are we announcing anything?” Phichit questioned, trying to figure out the best way to spin the story to give Seung-Gil more followers on Instagram.

_Maybe if I emphasize possible-_

“We’d like to wait until human trials to announce anything. We’re fairly confident that Axel is the only one close to closing a microbot project, but we’d hate for someone to speed up their own timeline and release before us,” Seung-Gil answered.

“Why not until release?” Celestino questioned, “Why announce at human trials?”

Otabek broke away from Yuri’s gaze, to answer the question, “It’s impossible to keep it under wraps at that point. Human trials require volunteers, which means we have to advertise to doctors, so that they can recommend it to patients.”

Phichit nodded, “Well. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. We’ve never had an information leak, and I’m not going to let our streak break now.”

The Thai man glanced back down at his talking points, “What about your patents? You’ve been working on this project for a while, I’d hate for this to go to generics before we can even make a sizable profit.”

At the question, Seung-Gil smiled, that confident look making a reappearance in his eyes, “Four from 2010, three from 2013, two from 2015, and two from 2017.”

Phichit’s heart was thumping loudly in his chest; giddiness swirling in his stomach, “The one from 2017….”

“Very much necessary to keep production cost-efficient,” Seung-Gil answered, smirking, watching Phichit’s reaction with amusement.

A cautious smile was growing on Phichit’s face, “So, what you’re telling me, is…”

“We can stand to dominate this market for a _decade_ ,” Seung-Gil preened.

Phichit squealed, turning it into a cough, before anyone could hear it, grinning widely, eyes glittering, “Huh. How fun.”

_God. I could actually do this. We could actually outperform Nikiforov. I could actually- oh my god. Oh my god._

“So, um,” Phichit swallowed, trying to control his happiness and failing miserably. His eyes were probably doing that sparkly thing, where his eyes widen and do their best impression of a fucking mirror, “Expect annual profits?”

The Korean CEO grinned, clearly enjoying Phichit’s expression far too much, and Phichit would have been concerned that Seung-Gil was making fun of him, if he wasn’t so damn excited. “Well, depending on how well Yuri does his job, we stand to make 4 billion a year from surgical applications, but if they’re able to make it marketable to hemophiliacs, we stand to make 10 billion.”

Phichit blinked, feeling dollar signs cover his eyes, “Well, hopefully, Yuri does his job well, because I could use 14 billion dollars.”

The Russian in question scoffed, “ _Please_. I’m fucking magical, okay? Worry about yourselves/”

“Well. I’m glad the number is acceptable to you,” the Korean replied, looking rather full of himself.

However, the overwhelming happiness Phichit felt still didn’t stop him from being the badass that he is, so he glanced down at his notes again, and raised a finger. “Um. One tiny thing, though. Profits split forty-five, fifty-five.”

Axel’s CEO’s smile dampened slightly, clearly not expecting Phichit to argue on the 35-65 split, “Pardon? Are you aware of how much money I’ve invested on this project?”

Phichit looked up, pretending to think about it, before looking back at Seung-Gil with a bright smile and an icy voice, the dichotomy adding another layer of _what the fuck_ , “Likely as much money I’m losing from putting Yuri’s current project on hiatus, as well as the fact I’m not demanding copyright royalties, plus the extra ten percent I’m offering you. I’m practically dismantling an entire lab and shipping it off to London and allowing you to keep those resources indefinitely. So, perhaps, you could just be grateful and accept it.”

The Axel team was reeling at Phichit’s abrupt change in tone, but Phichit’s squad was hiding smiles, entirely expecting this shit.

“ _Or_ , I mean,” Phichit shrugged, with an innocent voice, “you can just keep investing money into a dead end, because you aren’t getting anywhere without my help.”

He was looking at the Axel team with his smug joy just beaming from his face, probably looking a bit insane, but to quote John Mulaney, _it was throwing them off their rhythm._

“Seung-Gil?” Phichit asked, widening his eyes a little, giggling at the stunned look on his face, “Do we have a deal?”

“Um. Uh,” Seung-Gil stuttered, “Sure?”

_Oh my god, that poor baby. He’s so confused… I love it._

_Huh,_ Phichit realized, _I really got to figure out who’s going to top._

_He’s so Daddy, but he also looks so fucking cute._

“Good,” Phichit clapped his hands together, “We’ll send over the paperwork later this afternoon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting in about fifteen minutes, and I really need to get lunch before that. Bye!”

Celestino hung up the call abruptly.

The three of them watched the screen go black before celebrating with high-fives, squeals, and laughs.

“Good job team,” Phichit congratulated; it was undeniably a win for team ChuChu, and _damn_ did that shit feel good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good, bad, Seung-Gil wasn't Daddy enough?
> 
> Uh, I'm not super sure what's happening in the next chapter so no question this time. Instead, have a fun fact about this AU:
> 
> Phichit's ChuChu laptops are named after Hamster breeds. Remember, "Syrian", the laptop that Min-So had, that probably had you going, huh, that's a weird name. #that's a hamster breed. #Phichit names the laptop versions after hamsters. #what a nerd.


	8. Backpain and Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's in London? Also, Yuri has a cute heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Okay, so I have brought y'all the gold. HERE'S THE OTAYURI, YOU THIRSTY HOES. 
> 
> Right, anyways, I just want to clarify a bit of my Yuri characterization. I think that all things considered, Yuri is a straight-forward person. If you ask him a question, he's not going to lie to you. He'll either tell you to fuck off, or he'll tell you the truth. He doesn't really pretend much, and he faces his problems head-on. So, that's kind of why Yuri might seem a little open in this chapter.
> 
> Relationship Dynamics in this fic, in case anyone was curious.  
> Yuuri and Viktor kind of have this push and pull relationship, they kind of take turns in the dominant role.   
> Phichit and Seung-Gil challenge each other as equals, prodding the other in a 'make me' kind of way.  
> Yuri and Otabek are your homeboys. #honest #supportive #lets do it together #sharing is caring

Yuri tugged his luggage behind him, hating the Heathrow airport with a burning passion. His arms were sore from tugging his two heavy-ass Louis Vuitton suitcases, and the damn carry-on, and his weak ass back was acting up, a dull ache twinging in his lower back.

Usually having a sensitive back meant that Yuri’s had a good night being wrecked by some fat-dicked motherfucker; today, though, being sore means that he had been forced to sit in those uncomfortable American first class seats for five hours with only shit champagne to ease his soul.

 _Fuck my life,_ Yuri grumbled, sliding his Gucci sunglasses back on his face.

While he wasn’t exactly at a huge risk of being recognized in America, the further East Yuri went, the closer to Russia he traveled, the possibility someone would recognize him as that bitchy, genius brat that betrayed the Nikiforov clan.

Then again, though, things wouldn’t be this shitty for long; all Yuri had to do was reach the damn exit, where Axel’s entourage would be waiting nervously for his arrival. Honestly, it had been a long time since Yuri has had his hand shaken by a jittery board member before having an expensive gift basket shoved into his hands as he was ushered into a limo, everyone doing their very best to keep Yuri happy.

It had been at least five years. Before Phichit. Before Viktor.

And Yuri had to admit, he was looking forward to having his ego stroked.

Though it quickly became clear that wasn’t going to happen, Yuri realized, as he looked over the crowd of people waiting to pick up their respective travelers, not seeing anyone that looked remotely like wealthy board officer.

Instead, that damn man from the meeting a couple weeks ago was there in jeans, a white shirt, and timberlands, looking basic as fuck.

_At least be honest to your damn self, you know who he is._

Dr. Altin stood amongst excited wives and prim chauffeurs, standing like a damn statue, with hands behind his back and feet shoulder-length apart. Honestly, the man pissed Yuri off, on a base, instinctual level.

He seemed nice enough, intelligent, competent, and Yuri thought they’d get along after their decent conversation over the meeting, but there was just something about the way Dr. Altin always seemed like he was censoring himself that just rubbed Yuri the wrong damn way.

Though, it didn’t hurt that the man was _fine as hell._

Not too tall, not too muscular, with a hard, square jaw and dark eyebrows defining alert, raven eyes. And his posture, while a bit annoying, was imbued with enough confidence that Yuri couldn’t help but find it a bit sexy. Otabek was subtly intimidating, which was something Yuri could appreciate after spending years being suffocated by big personalities.

With a sigh, Yuri rolled his shoulders and took the final steps toward Dr. Altin, practically flopping his suitcases at the man’s feet.

“Hello,” Yuri greeted, somewhat sarcastically as he stretched out his arms and back, “Are you the only one, here?”

Otabek nodded, “Yes, I’ve been tasked with taking you to the flat Axel Pharmaceutical’s is loaning you for the duration of your stay in London.”

Looking at him with a _what-the-fuck_ expression, Yuri ignored the bunch of words that meant literally nothing and pushed his suitcases towards Otabek. “Lucky you, then. You’re carrying these; my arms hurt like a _bitch_. Jesus. I’m going to have to buy another Tempurpedic this weekend, or I’m going to be walking hunched-over like fucking Uncle Yakov.”

Yuri bent down, pressing his palms flat to the floor, feeling the ache in his back lessen a little, before standing back up and bending backward, hands on his lower back as he stretched his head back, maybe displaying his smooth neck a little more than he had to.

It was, perhaps, not entirely necessary to do this _right this moment_ , but Yuri wouldn’t exactly mind being able to fuck Dr. Altin.

_His back already hurt, might as well make it hurt for the right reasons._

Yuri straightened up, expecting to see Otabek looking at him confoundedly, the way straight men look at him as they silently regret all their life’s decisions. Well, it was that, or the culture shock from seeing Yuri, a respected, brilliant scientist, acting like sarcastic, millennial trash instead of a polished intellectual.

Instead, Dr. Altin was calm, patiently watching Yuri stretch with only a hint of polite concern in his eyes, waiting until the Russian was straight again before he spoke.

“The rental car is past these doors,” Otabek pointed, silently taking Yuri’s luggage.

Yuri followed behind the Doctor, somewhat surprised that the man had just taken Yuri’s luggage with zero complaints, pulling them behind him, and allowing Yuri to continue to stretch as he walked.

“You should strengthen your core,” Otabek said, apparently out of the blue, as he approached a black Mercedes Benz.

“Pardon?”

Otabek glanced at him momentarily, before gently setting Yuri’s luggage in the trunk, “Your lower back gets aggravated by poor posture and strain. It’s hard to correct habitual poor posture, though you should definitely try, a stronger core will be able to take some of the weight that’s currently on your back.”

 _Oh right,_ Yuri had almost forgotten. Otabek was an actual MD; his title of ‘Dr.’ was actually relevant, rather than just indicating a random Doctorate degree.

Yuri leaned against the car, waiting for Otabek to put the luggage away and then unlock the car. “So, you’re prescribing me abs, Dr. Dreamy?” Yuri questioned, sarcastically.

Unlocking the car, Otabek walked to the Driver’s side, casually throwing over his shoulder, “Yes, rock-hard ones, actually, since you only need them for support instead of aesthetics.”

“Only?”

“Well, you’re hardly lacking in the latter as it is, Dr. Plisetsky.”

And then the motherfucker slid into the car, leaving Yuri standing outside, like he was the smooth one or some shit.

\--

While the airport greeting might have been rather disappointing, Yuri’s new flat surely wasn’t; though, Yuri suspected it was because Phichit had a hand in selecting the flat, rather than that Lee was just selectively generous.

The excessive amount of windows and plush fabrics, paired with the complete lack of harsh lines or the color black was very telling.

 _Phichit. Such a mom_.

Otabek walked him around the apartment, before talking about a couple specifics. Yuri tuned out the majority of the lecture, only pulling the important bits out of the conversation.

_Yuri is expected to go to work in two days._

_These were the phone numbers for everyone Yuri would work with._

_Addresses for good restaurants._

_Name and number of the driving service._

_Yuri’s ID._

_Some kind of dress code._

_Contracts._

As Otabek delved further into company policy, Yuri held up a hand.

“Look. No matter what it is, I’ve coped under worse, okay? Unless there’s something that’s going to directly affect my ability to work, I really don’t care. You need me far more than I need you, as Phichit’s already proved.”

“Phichit gives you special treatment,” Otabek stated, cocking his head slightly.

There was a way Otabek said it. It should have been insulting, rankling Yuri the wrong way, but Otabek said it the way Yuri called out observations in a lab: detached, full of nothing but logic and a bit of curiosity.

“Damn straight,” Yuri agreed with a bitter smile, “I wouldn’t have gone with him after HM, if he didn’t.”

Otabek nodded, “Fair enough.”

There was a beat of silence, poised with a question. Otabek blinked, opening his mouth before closing it again, hesitating for the first time since Yuri had seen him in the airport. The man shifted slightly, and the motion looked entirely _wrong._

Yuri had only seen Otabek for a total of maybe three hours, but already, Yuri knew, Otabek was meant to stand like a statue, unforgiving and immovable in his course.

“Yeah?” Yuri asked, prodding the man to say what he wanted.

“I apologize for the personal question, but why _did_ you leave History Maker?” Otabek asked, voice full of professional curiosity.

Yuri sighed, looking out of the windows, desperately looking over the skyline and reminding himself that he was free. That he would never have to go back again.

If Yuri didn’t answer the question, he knew that Otabek wouldn’t really mind. He didn’t seem like the type to hold grudges for this sort of thing. But, the curiosity would flutter at the back of the man’s mind. They were scientists. It was their job to answer questions.

Otabek would subtly, maybe even subconsciously, study him, trying to answer the question himself. It would weigh on the man’s mind, adding a thin layer of awkwardness between them, and really Yuri wasn’t one to hide his emotions.

“I’m only answering this fucking once. So pay attention,” Yuri held up a finger, pointing it somewhat aggressively at Otabek, who just gave an unaffected nod.

Gathering up his strength, Yuri ran a hand through his hair before nodding and looking back at the London skyline, Yuri spoke, a bitter tone instinctively covering his words.

“Viktor is a fucking asshole. You don’t get on top without stepping on the dick of everyone below you. A lot of people forget that he was a fucking cannibal in his early years. With all the Russian oil money he had, he could devour company after company, merging again and again, until he was this mega-Frankenstein that stood some semblance of a chance of surviving in the market.”

Yuri shivered, remembering watching Viktor walk around in a sharp black-on-black suit he seemed to be glued into, with a shark-like grin plastered on his face, looking everyone over with a hungry look on his face, chasing after power with an almost psychotic drive.

“Mr. Nikiforov has ties to the Kremlin.” Otabek said it like a fact, but the sentence was loaded with questions.

Yuri barked a laugh, “Ties? Please, the Kremlin is so far up his ass, I’m surprised Viktor can walk. His Dad was an oligarch, after all. Viktor was just a little smarter about how he pulled in favors, funding and back-alley support instead of political sway. He’s Russia’s fucking poster boy, especially now that he’s gotten married. All he needs now is a couple of blonde, blue-eyed children.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you left,” Otabek stated, bringing Yuri back on track.

Yuri glared at him, “You fucked up my flow, bastard. Don’t interrupt. Anyways, I didn’t leave because of the Kremlin. If anything, the protection they offered was a motivation to stay. The issue was just that Viktor’s psycho way of viewing everything in assets and numbers applied to me, too.”

Yuri shivered.

Viktoria and Sophia Nikiforov’s cold stares had haunted him when he was a child. His aunts were always just a bit too cold, even for the Nikiforov family. So much so, that Yuri would stay in his room or hide behind Grandpa whenever they came over, much too unsettled by that hungry look in their icy blue eyes to face them over dinner.

It had shaken him to the core, when he saw the same look budding in a 13-year-old Viktor’s eyes.

“I was his cousin, so he hired me immediately after I got all of my PHDs, giving me my own lab and large enough salary to get me retired by 35. You know, I was really happy for two years. That is, until other companies started asking for me to consult. I’d done it a few times before when earning my PHD, and all things considered, I was known to be very generous, offering solutions even if they included my own patents or projects. All I asked was to be credited and paid for my time. And Viktor… Viktor saw opportunity.”

Otabek nodded, understanding, “He put your services up for auction.”

“That’s a fucking understatement. He’d send me off to China with barely a day’s warning. My projects would wither while I was away indefinitely, working 90 hour work-weeks for months on end, with my name off the damn project and my pay withheld until my employers' satisfaction. My contracts were iron-tight, and there was nothing I could do unless I wanted to relinquish all my rights to History Maker.”

“Either option benefited him. Either he earns money farming you out to foreign companies, or he gets complete ownership of your intellectual property.”

“Exactly,” Yuri admitted, rubbing his forehead, “Eventually, I couldn’t take that shit. I was either going to fucking kill Viktor or myself, so I gave up and ran off to Phichit.”

“That’s why you switched lines of research. It wasn’t by choice, but-”

“Viktor took all my shit when I left and threatened to sue my ass to hell and back if I ever touched any of the shit I made him.”

“Why Phichit? You could have just as easily switched sectors? Gone to another corporate giant?”

“The same reason I’m here with you. I’m going to fucking crush Nikiforov. I’m going to make him worse off than a flat-assed prostitute with fucking cankles. He’s going to have nothing. And then he’s going to ask-no, he’s going to beg me to come back, and I’m going to laugh in his goddamn face.”

Otabek nodded, “Fair enough.”

The calm words snapped Yuri out of whatever red-tinted bloodlust had overcome him, and the Russian shrugged, trying to subtly back track, “Or I mean, just getting the market majority, which is pretty much the same thing, as you know...”

“Destroying him?” Otabek finished, the barest hints of a smile tugging at the man’s lips.

“Exactly,” Yuri said, grinning back at him.

“Well,” Otabek paused, “I promise to do my utmost to make sure this project succeeds.”

Yuri scoffed at the man’s political answer, slapping Otabek’s shoulder, “Why can’t you just say, like, ‘let’s fuck him up’ or something? Why you gotta be so damn weird?”

Instead of being offended, the Doctor just huffed a laugh, shaking his head minutely, before saying, “Let’s fuck him up, Dr. Plisetsky.”

Otabek had a cute little smile on his face, and Yuri felt something inside him _melt._

_Damn._

_I think I found me a man that can do both_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay? Nay? Not enough Otayuri?
> 
> I know people were kind of curious about what the fuck was going on with Yuri and Viktor, hopefully, this cleared some shit up. Hit me up in the comments if you got any questions.
> 
> Also, the back thing, if anyone out there with lower back pain is wondering, is totally true. Having a stronger core will totally help your back pain. (I totally got prescribed abs a couple weeks ago when I went to the doctor. I think she hates me.) You may ask if I totally just gave Yuri back pain to make myself feel better by watching someone else suffer with my personal problems. And the answer is yes, yes I did.
> 
> The next chapter is probably going to be half Phichit and half Yuri, but we'll see.
> 
> Kudos make Phichit go all the way to London for like literally no reason but to see Seung-Gil  
> Comments make Seung-Gil call Phichit of his own accord and kind just go "Hey... It's Seung-Gil... So...hey"


	9. Phone Sex?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seung-Gil calls Phichit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know I said Seung-Gil was going to be awkward, but haha sorry, he's not. I couldn't figure out how to work that into the plot, so instead, take this odd, flirty mix of dialogue.
> 
> Also THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR GOOD WISHES FOR MY BACK. Lol, I really appreciated it. I'm doing a lot of reverse crunches and shit, so hopefully I'll feel better soon.
> 
> Again, sorry for my mistakes, it's like 1 am, and I just really wanted to get this chapter out.

“I’ll send you those numbers within the hour,” the CEO of ChuChu’s European branch said, brushing her hair behind her ear.

 Phichit smiled sheepishly at his laptop, nodding, “Right. I’m sorry you couldn’t get a solid estimate yesterday. That’s entirely on me, and I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”

She hummed as she jotted down another note, “As long as it doesn’t again, we were lucky this time. Anyways, I’ll share these goals with my managers, and get back to you?”

Phichit ran a hand through his hair, trying to think about what to do, “You can go to the CFO instead, he’d be able to better help, especially if you follow through on those mid-level mergers.”

She frowned, clearly not appreciating being kicked off of Phichit’s roster, “I’d still like for all of us to be on the same page. The last thing I need right now is for you to review the decision a week later.”

Phichit sighed, knowing better than to show his frustration; forcing a professional smile on his face, Phichit answered, “Once you meet with your team, go ahead and contact Celestino, he’ll set up a between the three of us.”

“Perfect,” she grinned, “Anything else?”

Phichit shook his head, doing his best not to let his exhaustion show, “Nothing from my end.”

“Nothing here either.”

“Then, I suppose we’re good. Bye, Clarissa,” Phichit said, waving energetically.

“Bye!” she said, humor filling her tone at her boss’s cute tone, before the call cut to black.

Immediately, Phichit crumbled; his head hit the table top, and he let out a small, pathetic whine. He hated his life. He hated meetings. He hated the European CEO. He hated his life.

 _Click_.

Phichit didn’t move, knowing that the only one allowed to burst in during meeting minutes would be Celestino.

“Ah, it can’t have been that bad?” Celestino questioned, walking over to rub Phichit’s back, “It was about a technicality, more than anything else.”  
Phichit straightened, irritation bringing life back into his body, slapping the tabletop. “You’d think that wouldn’t you? _But_ , for some reason, nooaahhhhh. No. Nope. She made it into this,” he waved his hands, “this whole _thing_. And I’m confused to what the thing even _is_ , but now we’re wasting both our time and Tim’s time, and what even?”

Celestino winced, “It’s never fun to get you and Tim in the same room.”

Phichit’s eyes widened, the fiery happiness of being understood burning away his weariness, “Right? I love Tim to pieces, but goddamn it I hate Tim.”

His PA sighed, having heard this speech nearly a thousand times and in no mood to hear it again. Before Phichit could start explaining the complex duality regarding his feelings towards ChuChu’s CFO who had a chronic habit of up-staging Phichit but being absolutely, fantastically queer while doing it that Phichit couldn’t even be mad.

“I still don’t understand why you hired the man, if you can’t even be in the same room as him.”

Phichit frowned.

It wasn’t that he necessarily hated Tim. He loved Tim. Tim was Phichit, but Ace and far more intelligent and happy. The man somehow managed to make numbers sound so interesting that Phichit actually tries to schedule meetings in the morning to wake himself up. That’s how amazing Tim was. He woke Phichit up better than coffee.

The issue was. Phichit was a thirsty, bitchy, petty son of a bitch, who couldn’t really stand being outstaged on the happiness front. The war on dreariness was Phichit’s fight, and Phichit’s fight alone, and the fact that not only did Tim jump into the fray, but the fact that Tim was mowing those fuckers down faster than him, was enough to make Phichit feel a tiny bit jealous.

Basically, Phichit didn’t like Tim, because Phichit loved Tim way more than Phichit loved Phichit, which was why Phichit hated Tim.

Phichit opened his mouth to explain all of this to Celestino, when the phone rang.

Well, Celestino’s work phone rang, and immediately Phichit felt all the energy drain out of his body again. The CEO banged his head against the table, hoping to slip into a coma and just cry.

_No, no, no. I was supposed to get a ten-minute break. It’s only been two._

_Where the fuck did my eight minutes go?_

_Oh shit, wait, did I read that file? No. No. I didn’t. Fuck me. Fuck me with a chainsaw. Damn. Why am I such a disaster gay?_

“It’s Seung-Gil.”

Like a damn bobblehead, Phichit perked up, grinning cheerfully, “Seung-Gil? He’s calling? Why’s he calling? Let me talk to him.”

The CEO made grabby hands at Celestino, childishly asking for the phone; the PA just sent him a disgusted look before picking up the phone.

“Phichit Chulanot’s office. This is Celestino.” The words came out stern and serious, as if his boss wasn’t acting like a love-struck toddler just a few feet away.

Seung-Gil presumably said a few words, though Phichit couldn’t hear them because Celestino hated using speakerphone, before Celestino hummed agreeably and said, “I’ll connect you.”

The two CEO’s had a planned conference call for tomorrow, so to have the chance to hear Seung-Gil’s soothing, accented English a day early was like getting to go to a strip club on Thursday: unexpected, but oddly satisfying.

And then, instead of just being a decent person and handling Phichit the phone, Celestino walked out of Phichit’s office to go to his desk and actually connect the call.

“You have until 3:45, since Dubai rescheduled, but please read that file by tomorrow, Chulanont, the last thing we need is _another_ meeting between you and Tim,” Celestino threw over his shoulder as he walked out the room.

“I love you!” Phichit called out after him, feeling warm at his PA’s care.

“Not as much as you love, Tim!” Celestino answered from his desk outside.

Before Phichit could open his mouth to answer, his work phone rang, the words _work boyfriend_ glowing brightly on the phone screen.

Suppressing a soft, love-struck sigh, Phichit answered the call, doing his best to channel his inner Irene Adler.

“Seung-Gil?” he questioned, voice soft and just a tad suggestive of the burning infernos of lust that spontaneously combusted at the mere thought the man.

“Phichit. I’m calling to apologize. The insult was completely unintentional, and I do hope your feelings towards me personally or my company hasn’t changed,” the Korean greeted, his tone dripping with empathy and regret.

Blinking, as he quickly lost his metaphorical footing in the conversation, Phichit managed a “Pardon?”

“About Yuri. I wanted to apologize for what happened,” Seung-Gil repeated, though Phichit noticed that he didn’t actually apologize, only said that he wanted to.

More importantly, Phichit felt dread fill in his stomach at the possibilities of what could have happened to his precious little cinnamon roll. “What happened to Yuri? I swear to god, if he got hurt under your watch-”

“You haven’t heard about it yet?” Seung-Gil questioned, curiosity filling his tone, and Phichit cursed the glitchy phone lines for perhaps the hundredth time this month.

“Seung-Gil. What happened to my son?” Phichit asked, voice hard with parental fury.

“He’s not hurt. He’s fine. He’s working with Dr. Altin at the moment,” Seung-Gil attempted to console, but it didn’t do much for Phichit’s quickly beating heart.

 

“Then?”

“He was detained by security in the lobby. It’s just that, well, he came to Axel wearing spandex shorts, a mesh shirt, and leather boots without his ID or his paperwork, so security- quite logically- held him in the lobby for an hour or so, before Otabek was able to come and get him out.”

“Oh,” Phichit paused, processing the information.

_That’s my little Russian dummy._

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. It’s his fault for not bringing his shit. He’ll remember next time.”

“You really earn your nickname of two-faced don’t you?”

Amusement filled Seung-Gil’s accented voice, making Phichit’s heart flutter.

The nickname had come into creation during an innovation conference. Phichit had been on a panel of twelve influential tech giants. Someone had asked Phichit a tough, somewhat-insulting question and Phichit had been glaring, a frigid voice biting out subtle sarcasm. And right in the middle of his explanation, a girl had shouted out _Phichit I love you._ And immediately, Phichit had turned in her direction, sending her a warm smile and cooing _I love you, too_ before slipping right back into his retort.

It had turned into a meme, which eventually trickled back into the business world, and since businessmen really sucked at naming things, his nickname eventually just became two-faced.

Phichit honestly didn’t mind it too much; there was nothing misleading about it. If it made people second guess themselves when talking to him, if it made people closely study his expression in hopes to figure out just what Phichit was thinking, that could hardly be a bad thing.

“Please. Yuri gets arrested in his own house, whenever Celestino forgets to warn security. I’m not going to be angry at you for it. I’m protective, but I’m not crazy,” Phichit scoffed, wondering just when Seung-Gil started think he was some kind of emotional mess.

_Maybe since the moment he met you?_

“Huh. You took this much better than I was expecting.”

Phichit giggled, deciding to flirt a little, “I can _take_ a lot of things.”

There was a short pause, before Seung-Gil whispered, voice a tad deeper, accent a tad thicker, as if his abs were audible in his voice, “That’s perfect, isn’t it? Because there’s so much I’d like to _give_ you Phichit. Do you think you could handle it?”

_Oh my god, he wants to give me his dick._

_Just how big is his dick, if he’s asking if I can handle it? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

A strangled little gasp escaped Phichit’s lips and Seung-Gil pounced on the show of weakness.

 “Could you be good for me, Phichit?” Seung-Gil purred into the phone, and _oh fuck._

_Oh my god, I’m horny at the office._

 “Mm, _yas_ , honeybunch,” Phichit moaned playfully, purposely breaking the atmosphere, because otherwise, Celestino would be getting him a new pair of underwear.

The crass words cut through the hot fog currently surrounding Phichit’s brain and was only emphasized by the annoyed click of Seung-Gil’s tongue.

“Mm. I really don’t like that.” The pout was practically audible in Seung-Gil’s voice.

“Hm?”

“The nickname. It’s horrible.”

_Hm. Way one to irritate Seung-Gil: crappy nicknames. Noted. Duly noted._

About to throw out a stream of cringy nicknames, Phichit paused, a lightbulb going off above his head, as his limited knowledge of Kpop finally came in handy, “Oppa? Seung-Gil Oppa?”

There was a sputter from the other side of the line, and then a brief pause, before Seung-Gil softly, carefully, like it was taking effort to pull himself together, like this had somehow affected him more than asking Phichit to _metaphorically take his dick._ “You’d call me Hyung. You identify as a man.”

Phichit giggled, liking the feeling of making Seung-Gil uncomfortable, “If I told you I was a bottom, could I call you Oppa? It’s just a lot flirtier than Hyung. It’s got that fangirl connotation that I like.”

At the word ‘bottom’, there was a loud exhale over the phone, before lush silence as Phichit finished his taunt. And after, there was a soft click, maybe a door shutting or a laptop closing, but that didn’t matter, because a second later, Seung-Gil’s voice was in his ear, taking on that same sexy quality again, sounding deeper, sterner.

“Are you a fan of mine, Phichit?” Seung-Gil crooned, ever so subtly, “I could autograph something for you. Maybe, that suit jacket you took from me… Or would you rather take my shirt, too, hm? Are you that kind of fan, Phichit?”

Phichit swallowed, confused at how quickly the tables had turned again, so that now he was back to being sexed up.

_I’m supposed to be the horny one, what the hell? He’s stealing my lines._

“Um. I’m not…”

“No, of course not. You’re worse, aren’t you? You felt me up in the middle of the street, Phichit. I don’t think that was very nice, was it?” Seung-Gil questioned, voice chiding and somewhat condescending, and _dammit if Phichit wasn’t liking it._

“No, but, um, I was just,” Phichit stuttered.

“Just?”

_Oh my god, abort, abort, abort. Phichit you are literally two seconds away from getting pregnant and having this man’s child, get out now._

“Is there,” Phichit coughed, desperately trying to regain his voice, “Uh, Is there a reason why you called?”

“Do I need a reason?” Seung-Gil answered. His voice still sounded like someone who’d say _spread those legs Babyboy._

“Well, I mean, _no?_ You don’t have to, but I mean, our time is literally money, you know?”

Phichit sounded like a confused teenager who had no idea what taxes were.

Seung-Gil laughed. Phichit wasn’t sure if it was real or fake, but the deep, low sound still sent a shiver down his spine.

“It is. But, twenty-five percent, remember?”

“What?”

“Only twenty-five percent of why I took you to lunch was work-related. I hope that our relationship won’t only be about work. I’d love to see you again, Phichit.”

Phichit wasn’t sure quite how Seung-Gil was doing this.

Phichit’s emotions might have been a constantly moving seesaw, but Seung-Gil was acting like a goddamn wrecking ball, swinging from one extreme to another, as if his sole purpose was to turn Phichit’s resolve to rubble.

But, he knew, _dear jesus,_ Phichit knew, that he couldn’t trust Seung-Gil at all. The man manufactured emotions at a faster rate than a factory in China.

That didn’t stop Phichit from taking him up on the offer, though.

“You want to see me?” Phichit questioned.

“I do.”

“Anything specific?”

“I’ll be visiting New York in two weeks, would you mind clearing your schedule on the 28th?”

Phichit hummed, “No promises.”

“Of course. It’s just a request,” Seung-Gil demurred.

“You’re being so cute right now, I’m quite sure what to say.”

“Then say yes, Phichit.”

“Give me a moment?”

“Sure.”

Phichit pressed mute, before letting out a sharp squeal, cupping his hands over his mouth in an attempt to decrease the volume, but it really didn’t help.

_I have a date with Seung-Gil. I have a date with Seung-Gil. I have a date with Seung-Gil._

“Celestino,” Phichit practically screamed, “Ciao Ciao! _Celestino!_ ”

The PA burst into the room, a slightly panicked look on his face and a first-aid kit in his hand.

“What is it? Are you okay?” his PA questioned, frantically, practically diving at Phichit and patting him down for injuries.

“What,” Phichit blinked, “Stop, no, stop.” Phichit pushed the man’s searching hands away, trying to get the conversation back on track as quickly as possible, very aware of the fact that _Seung-Gil was still on hold._

“Nothings wrong-“

“Are you serious? I thought you were _dying,_ what do you mean, _nothings w-”_

“Celestino,” Phichit interrupted, “Stop. I love you, but can I clear my schedule on the twenty-eighth?”

The PA, glared at him, but took out of his phone regardless, to check Phichit’s schedule.

“There’s a promotional meeting with Lunis Pharmaceuticals and the month-end meetings. Lunis isn’t so much a big deal, but it’ll be hard to find a five-hour block later that week,” Celestino sighed, voice dipping into _no_ territory.

“Please? I’ll work throughout the weekend. _And_ I’ll skip that shopping trip I was planning?” Phichit whined.

“Ugh, Yeah, okay, I’ll figure it out, but you need to wrap this call up, if you want to have lunch,” Celestino agreed, looking ten years older.

Phichit made a note to send the man home early, but at the moment he could only grin maniacally, squeal a quick _thankyouIloveyouahhhh_ before picking up his phone and unmuting the call.

“Seung-Gil?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll see you on the twenty-seventh.”

“Thank you, Phichit. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“I hope not. Anyways, I have to go, unless if there’s anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay, Bye!”

“I’m waiting for our call tomorrow.”

The call clicked, and Phichit felt his heart burst in excitement.

\--

Min-So ducked her head into his office, “You got him to cancel on Lunis?”

Seung-Gil nodded, smiling proudly. Phichit had broken apart so predictably, so easily, Seung-Gil just couldn’t believe how simple it had been.

“He’s probably rescheduling, but there’s no way he’ll be able to do it before the month ends. And after that, our contract is binding, so he won’t be able to get out of it anyways,” Seung-Gil explained.

Min-So nodded, “So what’s the damage?”

“I have to spend the day in New York… with him.”

His PA winced, but quickly recovered, nodding and walking out of the room, no doubt needing to overturn the day’s schedule.

Lunis was going to propose a much better deal to Phichit, something that could potentially end up making twice was Seung-Gil was aiming to make.

By making sure Phichit canceled, Seung-Gil was hitting two birds with one stone.

  * Phichit would be contractually bound to Seung-Gil at the start of the next month, so by making the man push the meeting back, Seung-Gil was ensuring that Phichit would be unable to accept Lunis’ offer, no matter how much he wanted to.
  * Lunis needed Phichit for this deal, and by taking Phichit out of the equation, Seung-Gil was ensuring that Lunis’ project wouldn’t hit market for a long, long time.



And then, there was that tiny, miniscule bonus of seeing Phichit again.

_Good job, Seung-Gil, sometimes you exceed brilliance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Seung-Gil is kind of a hoe? A hot hoe.
> 
> Who was expecting that? I wanna know. Who was that smart mf who KNEW not to trust Seung-Gil??? Whoever that was, congratulations, mi amigo.
> 
> Kudos mean a brief scene of Victuri  
> Comments mean a brief scene of Otayuri


	10. Angst?? I guess?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit gets an unexpected call (don't worry its not a sex hotline)  
> Yuri fanboys over his idol (LOL, it's not Otabek)  
> We peek into Viktor's mind (He's not as insane as we think? But he's still an asshole)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHOS BACK, BACK AGAIN, SHADY'S BACK, TELL A FUCKING FRIEND.
> 
> Hello bitches!!! (i mean that in the kindest, least derogatory way possible)
> 
> I'm sorry for taking so long. I got swamped with school work and college applications, and life kinda sucks but it's okay. I also kinda just wasn't sure where to go next with the fic, because I didn't want to make the next chapter about Phichit and Seung-Gil's lunch date, but I also wasn't sure where the fuck else I was going to put the next chapter, but don't worry I figured it out!!!
> 
> Anyways, I just wanna clear something up. I'm pretty sure everyone's kinda picked this up already, but PHICHIT DOES NOT LOVE YUURI ROMANTICALLY. Like. At all. He loves Yuuri to pieces, and if Yuuri asked Phichit to marry him, he'd gladly do it, but there's no sexual attraction there. Just wanted to clear that up, because it does get kind of vague in this chapter.
> 
> ANYWAYS, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT, THOUGH THERE'S LESS ABOUT ABS AND CHEEKBONES THAN USUAL!!!

Chapter

Celestino timidly walked into Phichit’s office, while Phichit was still eating lunch, having just hung up the phone with Seung-Gil.

“Chulanot,” his secretary whispered, looking rather conflicted.

Phichit sat up straight, quickly swallowing his mouthful of soup, before waving at Celestino with a reassuring smile, “What’s up?”

After a second of clearly gathering his wits, Celestino blurted out, “Yuri’s on hold.”

Phichit looked at him, bemused, “Okay? So? I’m always up to talk to my bean. I do have a couple minutes left before the Australia call.”

“No.” Celestino shook his head. “It’s Yuuri Katsuki.”

Phichit froze, ice curling in his stomach. His temples thrummed lightly; his ears left hot; a wave of dread beating at his body. A bout of shame erupted in his stomach at his horrible reaction.

_Who acts like this about a phone call from their best friend? I should be happy. Jesus, I’m such a shit friend._

“P-patch him in,” Phichit said, forcing a grin, “I’ll take a video call if he can do it.”

“ _Phichit.”_

“Do it, Ciao Ciao.” Phichit’s voice was cheery, but there was a sharp undertone, hard and icy, that silently dared his PA to go against his wishes.

The man seemed to reel at Phichit’s words, before nodding, walking out so that he can connect the call.

Quickly, Phichit pulled out his phone, opening the camera and checking his smile, making sure that it looked genuine. He carefully pulled up one of the corners of his smile, so that his eyes would crinkle.

_There, hold it._

Phichit kept it up for a couple seconds, memorizing the feel of the expression, before dropping the smile. A face of dread and fear looked back at him. Phichit looked haunted at the idea of speaking to his best friend and he hated himself for it.

_Smile, Phichit. You’re a great liar, and you love your best friend. What can go wrong?_

There was a soft chirping sound, before the monitor on Phichit’s desk filled up with Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri was nervous, a bit jittery, but mostly happy. He was on a plane- Viktor’s private jet, guessing from the color scheme. A sleeping Viktor was resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, looking like a super model. They both did. Wearing jewel-toned, tight-fitted sweaters, and Yuuri had a-

“Did you get your ears _pierced_?” Phichit screeched, looking at the pretty silver jewelry dangling from Yuuri’s ears.

Yuuri blushed, covering his face as he nodded.

“How the _fuck_ did that happen?”

“Well, um,” Yuuri stuttered, “You know I’ve really wanted to do it for a while, and we were in a jewelry store, and Viktor saw me looking at earrings, so he got me to do it.”

Phichit forced his smile to stay up at the mention of Viktor’s name, “Right. Speaking of the spouse, how’s the honeymoon going?”

The question seemed to make Yuuri _glow._ A bright, beaming smile lit up his face as he sat up a little straighter, any traces of embarrassment fading from his body.

“It’s going great. Of course, it’s not a full out vacation. Work pops in here and there, but we’ve been popping into different cities to meet friends and visit places together. We met up with Chris last night. I learned that Viktor always starts with his shoes, when he packs his backs, which is just weird and quirky but I love it. It’s just… He’s finally _mine,_ you know? I’ve always been lucky, but I’m god-gifted lucky right now,” Yuuri explained, a gentle hand coming up to brush Viktor’s hair.

Yuuri just looked so _in love_. He looked so happy.

Phichit wanted to cry. He wanted to sob all of his pitiful, selfish woes.

He wanted to point out that Yuuri used to smile like that when he talked about Phichit, so warm and full of affection.

He wanted to ask why the hell Phichit couldn’t have that, why Phichit couldn’t have someone to look at him that way. Why was Phichit just a black hole of selfishness and fake smiles.

He wanted to be that head on Yuuri’s shoulder, to breathe in the smell of home and generic Japanese shampoo, counting Yuuri’s breaths as he slowly went to sleep.

He didn’t want to be _alone_. He wanted his friend back. He wanted his parents back. He wanted casual cuddles and meaningful smiles. He wanted someone to _care_.

Phichit wanted everything he couldn’t have.

He was so selfish for wanting it. For wishing, that Viktor might just disappear one day, so that Yuuri could come back to him. For wanting to break up Yuuri’s happiness, just so that Phichit could get some semblance of affection back into his life.

“I’m so happy for you,” Phichit cooed, smiling the smile he’d practiced with his phone camera a minute ago, making sure to tilt up the corner of his lip.

Yuuri’s eyes snapped back to Phichit’s, “Right. I don’t want to take up to much of your time. I know you’re busy-”

“I’m never very busy for you, dear soulmate of mine,” Phichit interrupted with a charming smile.

Yuuri rolled his eyes, smile tugging at his lips, before he asked, “Viktor and I are dropping into to New York late tonight. I wanted to ask if you were free tomorrow? I’m sorry that it’s so sudden. We weren’t planning on coming to New York, but Viktor had a bit of a mix up he has to take care of, so…” Yuuri was looking at him with a hopeful expression, like he cared for Phichit, like he missed him.

Phichit paused.

He could say no. He could easily say no. He maybe, probably, kinda should say no. Yuuri wasn’t even in New York to see him. It was just by chance that Yuuri happened to be talking to him.

But Phichit loves Yuuri, and there was never any chance that Phichit was going to resist Yuuri’s puppy eyes, anyway.

“I’m not sure what I have tomorrow, but I can promise dinner?” Phichit offered.

Yuuri’s eyes widened, a slight pout on his lips, “Can we do pizza and a movie instead? With blankets?”

“ _Yes_!” Phichit blurted, not even having to think about it before he answered.

_

Yuri hummed, looking around, mentally rearranging everything in his head. It was a nice space, maybe a bit cold compared to Yuri’s own brightly colored carpet and houndstooth patterned walls in his own New York laboratory.

The entire floor was brightly lit by large floor-to-ceiling windows and blue-tinted lights. Most of the walls were made of frosted glass. The floors were polished cement and the counters were all sparkling white quartz. It easily could have been cold, but the periwinkle walls, patterned with some traditional Korean pattern that somehow broke up the sleek sharp points.

Which, honestly, was to be suspected from Seung-Gil as Yuri was coming to find. Being _just_ soft enough so that people don’t consider him a fucking serial killer.

“This floor is mine right?” Yuri confirmed.

Otabek shook his head, “It’s the projects’, so we’ll be sharing.”

Yuri nodded, continuing to glance around.

Phichit was shipping over Yuri’s lab and many of Yuri’s previous subordinates, and while Yuri had already gave him a rather long list of equipment, employees, and his personal crap that he would like to have sent over. But, Yuri was hella expecting for Otabek to be lacking basic shit, and so it would be nice to know just what else Yuri needed, so that everything could be sent together.  

“That’s fine. I can share,” the Russian smirked, letting a bit of innuendo into his voice.

Otabek just blinked, like he didn’t even hear what Yuri said.

“Let me introduce you to the team. Mr. Lee called in a few different experts from various other Lee branches, in order to expedite this project. Then, we can start the tour. We’re running about an hour and thirty minutes behind schedule, because I didn’t account for your brief capture in the lobby,” Otabek explained.

“So they _just_ got here?” Yuri questioned.

Otabek nodded.

There was a loud, soul-crushing groan that threatened to escape Yuri’s mouth, but since he was a sensible, polite person, (somewhat), Yuri held it in, and simply huffed a sarcastic, “Great.”

No reputable scientist would allow themselves to be so abruptly pulled away from their own work. Lord knows that Yuri would have fucking killed someone for even suggesting it. It was insulting.

Lee probably pulled some fucking twinks fresh out of college with lots of funding money and Stanford degrees they didn’t earn.

“It is,” Otabek answered placidly, making Yuri’s hand twitch from the _overwhelming urge to kill him_.

The pair entered a side room where three people sat at a circular table, laptops out.

Except, they didn’t immediately scramble into a position that screamed _oh my gosh I’m meeting my idol._

The three of them slowly, casually glanced up from their laptop screens, recognition flashing in their eyes, before gracefully standing up and walking around the table, very small smiles on all their faces.

_Oh my god, wait._

The three of them had a less extreme version of Otabek’s soldier-like stiffness, and they stood shoulder to shoulder, silently waiting for Otabek to introduce them.

_Is that fucking Mila Babicheva?_

 “Yuri, these are the people Mr. Lee called for. They’ll be heads of different branches of the project, relating to our end targets for the year. Everyone, this is Yuri Plisetsky from ChuChu Contraptions,” Otabek introduced.

_Breathe, Yuri, don’t forget to breathe. Don’t make a fool of yourself._

The tall, curvy woman with bright red hair stepped forward first. She seemed the least friendly of the three. Her sharp blue eyes inspected him behind fashionable circle-rimmed glasses. A bright red blouse and a tight pencil skirt peaked from behind her buttoned-up white doctor’s coat. Her small smile was twisted at the corners, like she was imagining all the possible ways to fuck with him.

“Sorry, Dr. Altin. Yuri, I’m Mila Babicheva. I’m Loop Pharmaceuticals’ expert biodegradability. They called me in from the Prague branch,” her Russian accent was soft, muted. She offered a hand out to shake.

The Russian scientist froze, not expecting _the Mila Babicheva_ to be his subordinate. She was globally recognized as a genius. Her work in botox and cosmetic surgery was groundbreaking and had single-handedly transformed the industry.

Yuri didn’t get starstruck, but if he did, it would be for Mila Babicheva.

His own hand was shaking slightly, as he reached for Mila’s hand.

Stiffling any reaction his inner fanboy would have, Yuri nodded professionally, “We’ve met before. During the 2016 conference at Stanford? You gave a great presentation.”

Mila nodded, entirely unaffected at the praise, “You did well, too. I thought your perspective on electromagnetic sensitivity was interesting.”

Yuri forced himself to turn and to face the other two.

They seemed to step forward together, but they weren’t in sync.

One was bright-eyed, smirking slightly, as he looked Yuri over, with a posture that just screamed _above average dick size._ While his styled dark-hair and the Rolex glinting on the man’s wrist said asshole, his pair of ripped jeans and sweatshirt with the phrase _I’m here and queer_ said disinterested millennial.

The second was the softest of the bunch, messy curly hair flopped on the man’s forehead, outlining his sleepy, drowsy eyes. His smile was soft, if slightly ditzy and reminiscent of Phichit. With an oversized, fuzzy pink sweater and black leggings, the man looked like the epitome of a flower boy. He had himself tucked into the other’s side, leaning on him for support.

“Hello. I’m Leo de la Iglesia, I’m the expert here on Vascular Chemical Micro-Transportation, and this is Guang Hong Ji, the man responsible for the Loop’s GCM,” Leo’s American accent came out bright and friendly.

While their names didn’t incite the same levels of awe inside Yuri as Mila’s did, he was still rather impressed. He’s read their papers and gained certain degrees of insight. These were easily some of the best experts Seung-Gil could have brought on to the project, and it seems like the CEO had done so with little effort on his part.

_Just how was he able to round up so many people at a moment’s notice?_

“The GCM was amazing. I’m so happy that I have that intellect on my team. It’s great to meet both of you. I have to admit. I was kinda worried to hear how quickly Seung-Gil was able to get you here,” Yuri admitted.

“I mean, it’s completely understandable. Honestly Guang Hong and I only got here so fast since we had been loaned out to Oxford for their spring semester. And I do believe Ms. Babicheva was able to arrive as her project was in the last stretches of testing, yes?”

“That’s true. They hardly needed me there when all they’re doing is injecting wrists with botox,” Mia answered.

Guang Hong just nodded, indicating that he agreed with what Leo had said, before drowsily tucking his face into Leo’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?” Yuri questioned, mild concern bubbling in his chest.

Guang Hong either nodded or nuzzled into Leo’s shoulder. Yuri really couldn’t fucking tell.

With an amused laugh, Leo ruffled Guang Hong’s hair before turning to Yuri with a smooth smile, “He looks worse than he is. He’s just high as shit _and_ suffering from jet lag. Don’t worry about it. The jet lag will wear off in a couple days.”

“Right.” Yuri decided not to ask. The last thing he needed was to insult his future co-worker, or have Otabek fire him for showing up to work tripping balls.

But then, a quick glance Otabek’s way showed the man’s complete lack of concern over Guang Hong’s state, and, well, if Otabek wasn’t concerned, then Yuri wouldn’t be either.

Yuri quickly ended the conversation, crushing the urge to just look over and just stare at Mila, as if her boundless intellect could be absorbed through a gaze. He was honestly seconds away from breaking down and begging her for a picture and an autograph.

“If you’ll excuse us, Otabek was in the middle of giving me a tour,” Yuri gestured for Otabek to lead the way.

The Doctor nodded and began walking ahead of him, but Yuri took a quick couple steps and looped his arm through the other man’s.

“Hey,” Yuri chided, “Don’t run off.”

“Apologies,” Otabek answered.

“Also,” he continued, sharply slapping Otabek’s chest, “How _dare_ you not give me any warning before I met _the_ Mila Babicheva.”

The scientist seems to need a second as he registers the information, before he frowns, confused. “Mila Babicheva?”

“I have a huge science crush on her, oh my god,” Yuri groaned, fanning himself “Mila could step on my dick in stellittos, and I’d probably say thank you.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but not too much so, either. Yuri was a bottom, so, really, did he need his dick?

_Well, yes, but… Mila’s welcome to step on it regardless._

“Right,” Otabek said, the word short and curt, “Let’s hope she doesn’t have the urge to impale your dick.”

Yuri paused.

The way Otabek said the word ‘dick’ in that stern voice of his had Yuri’s insides melting. The image of hot, capable Mila fading to the lovely image of Otabek pinning him against a wall.

His tone was stern, clearly disliking the use of crass language at work, and Yuri kinda wanted to keep dropping four letter words, just to see how stern he could see Otabek get, but, alas, that might not be a good idea at ten in the morning,

_Maybe later._

So, instead, Yuri said, “Did you just say dick?”

“Yes?”

“Huh. You should say it more often,” Yuri winked, “It’s kind of a turn on.”

There was hardly any noticeable shift in Otabek’s expression, just a slight twitch to the corner of his lips, “Noted.”

-

Yuuri always looked so perfect in the mornings. His hair was mused, fluffy, looking like a soft halo fanning across the pillows. He always looked so innocent, carefree.

In the mornings, Viktor always had the urge to wrap Yuuri up into his arms and squeeze his fiancé tight. That, or, lie on top of Yuuri, cuddling on the man’s chest, just listening to his soothing, steady heartbeat for hours.

Yuuri was so precious to him. Yuuri was so precious, is so precious.

He was perfect and so out of Viktor’s league, but Viktor couldn’t live without him.

So here Viktor was, lying next to Yuuri, a foot of space between them, desperately trying to muster up the courage to shift closer.

He didn’t want to wake Yuuri up. Didn’t want to give the man any reason to be irritated. He didn’t want to appear weak. He didn’t want to bother.

Yuuri was here for very specific reasons, and Viktor had to make sure that he continued to operate in that narrow margin.

But, Viktor’s toes were cold, and the clock was getting close to nine in the morning, so he supposed that it was getting close to time to get up.

So, with gentle, soft touches, Viktor brushed away stray strands of Yuuri’s hair from his forehead, before tracing a gentle finger down the slope of Yuuri’s nose. “Yuura. Darling. Time to wake up,” Viktor whispered.

There was still quite a bit of space between them, but that was fine. Yuuri could bridge that gap if he needed to, but Viktor wasn’t holding out any hopes for that.

“Look at how cute your hair is, hm?” Viktor squealed softly, running ruffling Yuuri’s sleepy curls, “You can do it, lovely. I need my sun to come up, please?”

Calling Yuuri his sun was maybe a little closer to home than it should have been. The word clanged at it struck all the steel beams and chains that intrinsically tied Viktor to Yuuri’s feet.

A soft huff left Yuuri’s lips that had Viktor smiling, audibly ‘aw’-ing at the sound.

His cute fiancé slowly shifted his hips, before wriggling his shoulders and scrunching his nose, clearly not liking being woken up, and a small part of Viktor shriveled at doing something Yuuri didn’t like, but his logic quickly stamped out that feeling.

_You’re far too needy._

“Yuura,” Viktor cooed, “Come on. The art auction is eleven-thirty. We don’t want to be late.”

With a loud groan, Yuuri buried his face back into his pillows, squirming for a moment, before peaking an eye at Viktor, “What time is it?”

“Nine.”

Yuuri sighed, but the haze of sleep had left his eyes, “We don’t have work today, do we? Isn’t France expecting a call?”

That was a rational question. It was a reasonable question. But, maybe, if Viktor was a much more pathetic version of himself, it would have hurt Viktor just a tad, for the second sentence out of Yuuri’s mouth to be about work.

“Um,” Viktor fell back onto the pillows, trying to remember if the asshole in France actually _was_ expecting a call.

Now that he was thinking about it, Viktor _was_ rather sure that France was expecting a call.

_How did I forget?_

Viktor sighed, sitting up straight, and running a hand through his hair, trying desperately to hide how embarrassed he was. It was well known that he had poor memory, but he wasn’t incompetent.

Or, well, maybe the better way to phrase that is Viktor has never given someone front row seats to how incompetent he was.

“Right. Sorry,” Viktor smiled, forcing his hands not to shake as he pulled them away from Yuuri’s skin, “I’ll call them before we leave. Go ahead and doze a little. I’ll shower first.”

Yuuri smiled as Viktor got up, snuggling further into the blankets to get a few more precious moments of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DID YOU THINK? WAS IT EMOTIONAL? OR NOT EMOTIONAL ENOUGH?
> 
> (I'm a crack writer in case you couldn't tell, so this chapter was a bit of an odd experience)
> 
> Anyways,  
> Kudos: Should Phichit hang out with Yuuri later?  
> Comments: Should he cancel and do some self-care?
> 
> #LET ME KNOW
> 
> Also, feel free to just like tell me about your day or something? I've been feeling lonely... *pouts*
> 
> Okay, bye!!!


	11. Explosions and Mild Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit is suffering.  
> Seung-Gil isn't a robot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS OH MY GOD HI!!!
> 
> Okay, so first off, I just want to call attention to the crazy ratio of stats this fic has. DO YOU SEE HOW MANY COMMENTS WE HAVE COMPARED TO HITS??? That's crazy and amazing and wow, I love all of you so much. (IDK what's going on with the kudos but whatever)
> 
> Also, my comment squad really came in clutch last update. All of y'all had great ideas, and they really helped me figure out what needed to happen, and what you guys wanted to happen, and it'll be great. I promise. It's just not going to happen in this chapter. RIP THE SUSPENSE.
> 
> This just really needed to be it's own chapter tbh, so, here you go!!!! I got through this super quickly because, now I know what's gonna happen, and woah, that's something new??
> 
> Also, sorry, it's still kindddd of angsty. 
> 
> OH AND I'M GETTING TO ALL OF YOUR COMMENTS! I'M SORRY I'M SLOW. BUT I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS, THEY ARE MY HAPPINESS, MY JOY, AND MY HEART!

“Dr. Altin mentioned that Dr. Plisetsky wanted to shift a couple subordinates to my payroll?” Seung-Gil brought up, looking at Phichit with an expectant expression.

Maybe it was because Phichit wasn’t in a good mood, or maybe Phichit was feeling rather honest today, but Seung-Gil’s eyes seemed like dark pools of blankness. They were boring into Phichit like twin gun muzzles, threatening and cold.

The sight of him ran shivers down Phichit’s spine, making him feel uncomfortable, more than anything else.

But if Phichit had one talent, it was smiling when he wanted to cry, so with anxiety fluttering in his stomach, Phichit flashed a smile.

“Yeah. He’s pretty adaptive when it comes to short term projects, but he tends to get pickier as the weeks pass, so it’s best to just accommodate him from the get go.”

Seung-Gil nodded, glancing down at his meeting notes, “It would be appreciated, if you could send it by 15th. We do salaries by fiscal quarters, and the start of the new one is the 30th. My CFO doesn’t like going through her tasks in consecutive order, and the gap will give her enough wiggle room.”

Phichit shoved a giggle through his lips, “Wow, what a coincidence. We both have crazy CFOs, hm? Mine is just-“

Buzz. Buzz.

Phichit’s phone vibrated, and the CEO sent Seung-Gil an apologetic smile before, glancing at his phone.

**Soulmate:**

**Hey, Viktor and I are going to Christie’s in a couple hours, can I get you anything?**

Buzz. Buzz.

**Soulmate:**

**Don’t worry about lining me money beforehand. I don’t mind dropping a couple mil on behalf of my best friend. Don’t you still have that empty wall space in your NY apartment?**

Buzz. Buzz.

**Soulmate:**

**Well it’s not really that I don’t mind (RIP my bank account, you know?), so much as Viktor has to bankroll anything my heart desires. And, well, I don’t mind spoiling my bestie.**

Buzz.

**Soulmate:**

**Just let me know? You have a solid three hours… Anyway, looking forward to friend’s night later tonight.**

Phichit’s mind went blank, before he smiled, for lack of an idea how to respond.

_He did really want that Peter Doig piece… Which was going on sale today…_

It was actually rather nice for Yuuri to have texted him and asked. Yuuri didn’t have to do that, but at the same time, Phichit wasn’t sure if he could swallow his pride. Having Viktor buy him a 8 million dollar painting really wasn’t something Phichit could swallow.

“Mr. Chulanot?”

“ _Phichit_?”

Phichit’s eyes snapped back to meet Seung-Gil’s.

“Sorry. Yuuri was texting me.”

“Was it the employee list?”

Phichit blinked, before shaking his head, “No, it’s Katsuki.”

And the polite, professional smile on Seung-Gil’s face seemed to shutter, fluttering in and out of existence, before morphing into something more concerned.

“What’s he asking you about?” The words were calm, placid, and completely void of any sort of intonation.

Phichit paused, wondering whether he should explain, because it was honestly none of Seung-Gil’s business, but at the same time, it’s not like anyone else was going to ask Phichit about the state of his friendship.

“Yuuri’s in town. We’re meeting up later tonight, but he’s going to Christie’s in a couple hours and he’s asking if I want something,” Phichit explained.

“ _Do_ you want anything?” Seung-Gil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well. There’s a Peter Doig piece up for auction today that I had my eye on. I was originally planning on going, but my schedule got shifted around and I had to skip,” Phichit explained.

“So send someone in your place? There’s no need to take an unneeded favor from Nikiforov.” Seung-Gil said, correctly pegging the issue in the situation.

Phichit shaking his head, stomach dropping a bit at the impossible suggestion, “They only let registered people bid, and I don’t know anyone who’s registered that would be willing to bid in my name instead of for themselves. Everyone wants it.”

Seung-Gil frowned, those dark, coal eyes looking at Phichit with too much emotion for Phichit to feel comfortable, “You can do without a painting, Phichit.”

“I can, but I also have a chance to have the painting that I’ve had my eye on for a month,” Phichit fired back, feeling like he was fighting for something, but he wasn’t exactly sure what.

A soft pause settled in between them. Abyss eyes scratched down Phichit’s face, making him shiver. Again. Honestly, Phichit wasn’t in the mood to be speaking to Seung-Gil right now.

He didn’t feel like wrapping himself in lies, just so Seung-Gil would have some semblance of sexual attraction to him. He didn’t want to look at Seung-Gil’s smiles and have to calculate how much of that was genuine and how much was falsified for monetary gain.

It made him feel so alone.

Phichit wanted to scratch at his arms until he drew blood; his skin itching, like it was actually wrapped by something, his false personality resting on him like a phantom blanket.

“Regardless. I hope you aren’t planning on meeting Yuuri tonight?” Seung-Gil asked, false chiding sprinkling his words.

Phichit raised his eyebrows at the other CEO’s audacity, “Excuse me? What the hell gives you the right to comment on my personal life?”

Indignation was burning in Phichit’s stomach setting other emotions alight; he knew that he wasn’t acting exactly logically, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

His entire focus was on making sure that he didn’t cry in front of Seung-Gil, and what little self-control he had left over was directed towards making sure that Phichit didn’t start clawing at his own skin. There was no room for Phichit to suppress his anger.

“I simply think it’s a bad idea.” The words were spoken like fact, and that self-assurance did nothing but further anger the CEO.

Phichit’s voice came out harsh, biting, “Don’t be so damn selfish. I won’t tell him anything about you.”

The words seemed to hit the Korean. Flinching ever so slightly, Seung-Gil slowly shook his head, “That’s not why I’m recommending against it. Yuuri upsets you Phichit. You shouldn’t have to experience anything that makes you unhappy.”

The words were sweet.

They might have been enough to sooth Phichit’s bleeding heart if they were true.

But, it was Seung-Gil. Lying, cold, bitter Seung-Gil, who’s bottom line was made out of dollar signs.

_Which just hurt so much. Phichit had everything he wanted right in front of him, but he could never have it. It wasn’t his, and it didn’t exist._

“I get that you want to _fuck me_ , but that doesn’t give you the right to pretend like you care. Stay in your fucking lane, Mr. Lee,” Phichit spat.

Seung-Gil blinked, seeming to be unable to orient himself entirely. Phichit had called him out on his lie for the first time, and now he was stumbling to try and get his lies secure again.

“I do have interest in your well-being, Phichit?” The statement was said as a question, as if Seung-Gil was trying to soften his words.

Phichit was having none of this shit. He was done. He wanted to go home. He wanted to fucking die. He wanted to _make Seung-Gil stop fucking pretending._

“You have interest in the well-being of my company. I’m not idiotic enough to get the two confused. Now, if you’ll excuse me Mr. Lee, I don’t have any more time to talk to a fucking liar,” Phichit sneered, slamming the ‘end call’ button.

The screen clicked to black.

Phichit’s body went limp, all the fight draining from his body. He hadn’t received any satisfaction from hanging up, and if anything, he felt even worse than he did before.

_

Seung-Gil looked at the blank screen, frozen.

He stared, unblinking at the screen, and then at the wall behind it.

With a stuttering mind, Seung-Gil slowly clicked his laptop closed, just trying to process his state of mind.

He didn’t quite understand what he was feeling.

There was a faint feeling in his stomach. He was angry? Maybe?

This wasn’t the first time Seung-Gil had seen Phichit upset- Seung-Gil had been the reason for the man’s tears during their lunch date after all- but it was the first time that Seung-Gil had felt anger on Phichit’s behalf.

The Thai man was so soft and gentle, an ever-shining sun. Irrational anger pricked at his fingertips at the idea of the man upset.

Phichit was meant to be _happy_ , anyone causing differently was going against the universe's design.

_So, I’m angry at someone upsetting Phichit._

Which was fair enough, he supposed.

But there was a tightness in his chest, something that wasn’t anger. It was offense? Maybe _hurt_ was more apt.

Phichit’s harsh tone was echoing in Seung-Gil’s head.

His words were pressing into Seung-Gil’s skin, making drops of shame and hurt bloom in Seung-Gil’s chest.

_What the hell gives you the right to comment on my personal life?_

Phichit was right.

Seung-Gil didn’t have that right. There was absolutely no reason that Seung-Gil should be entitled to any opinion on Phichit’s actions.

 _But I want to_.

Seung-Gil wanted to guide Phichit, to offer advice, and try to direct him away from pain. Seung-Gil wanted that right.

Seung-Gil paused.

He was unsure about very few things in his life, and how he felt about Phichit wasn’t one of them.

He enjoyed Phichit’s smiles.

He was impressed by his strength.

Phichit was incredibly intelligent, both academically and strategically.

Phichit was soft, but in an inviting and endearing way.

He was upfront, demanding things that Seung-Gil would cheat people out of.

Seung-Gil didn’t _love_ Phichit. He didn’t even adore him, really. But, there was a spark of affection in Seung-Gil’s chest for the man, and that was enough.

“Min-So,” Seung-Gil asked, pressing down on the intercom, “I need you to find me a registered member of Christie’s. I need to buy a painting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm... What did we think? I think that it was interesting for Phichit to finally lose his temper? You know?
> 
> Hm. What should I ask...
> 
> Okay, would you rather  
> Kudo: Get a large scene from Viktor's POV (about his and Yuuri's relationship?)  
> Comment: Get a large scene from Yuuri's POV (about his and Phichit's relationship?)
> 
> LET ME KNOW!!! ONE OR THE OTHER OR BOTH, ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
> 
> I love all of you dearly, I hope you're having a great day, please have a happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it, and if you don't please get yourself a bowl of your favorite soup, because you're fantastic and deserve it.
> 
> Until next time!!!
> 
> (lol the author's notes were very hyped up this time, huh?)


	12. The Damn Broke and I need Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a peek at Viktor and Yuuri's side of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So pretty much everyone wanted a long Yuuri POV, so here it is. A short Viktor snippet and a long Yuuri scene. I hope this helps explain Yuuri's character, and why he was acting the way he was.
> 
> I'm just saying... It might be hard to stay angry at the little bean after this. 
> 
> Warning- angst? 
> 
> (I promise we'll get into the lighter stuff soon, y'all, this angst arc is taking too fucking longggggg)
> 
> Anyways, have fun!

After Viktor slipped out of the shower, he robotically went through the motions of his skincare routine. He barely glanced at his reflection, except when he needed to dab wrinkle cream under his eyes.

If there was one thing Viktor didn’t need to worry about, it was his looks. His face was model-worthy.

He knew that.

There was no use in glancing at it, trying to pick out all the little imperfections that Yuuri could have noticed.

Viktor sighed, running a hand through his hair, wondering whether or not to style it. Yuuri’s undoubtedly seen him with floppy hair, but there was a sense of vulnerability echoing in Viktor’s chest that drove him to grab the hair gel.

Afterward, Viktor glanced at his suitcase, silently debating whether to wear a suit or slacks and a cardigan. Suits meant business, and Viktor didn’t want to feel like he was encased in armor when he was on his vacation with Yuuri.

_Yuuri’s first thoughts in the morning are about business. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your fiancé, would you?_

The answer to that question was a loud, vicious _no_

With a soft sigh, Viktor went and pulled out a dark suit from his suitcase, eyeing it the way one did a knife.

Viktor didn’t _hate_ suits. He hated the way he felt in them. He’s been trained for years to feel hollow inside, and putting on a suit jacket and tie only made it worse.

It was as if with every button he did up, there was a sense of adrenaline leaking into his veins. When Viktor tied a perfect knot in his tie, there was a sense of being _choked_. Strong iron fists curling softly around his neck and squeezing the last bit of life out of them, wringing him into a hollow husk of a man.

The Russian smiled in the mirror, a sharpness to his expression that wasn’t there before.

\--

 Yuuri slowly blinked his eyes open, smiling as he felt Viktor’s long fingers running through his hair.

“Darling,” Viktor whispered softly, “Wake up, please?”

Pushing his head into Viktor’s hand, liking the feel of the Russian’s nails against his scalp, Yuuri hummed, “I’m awake. Is it time to go?”

Bleary-eyed, Yuuri tried pulling Viktor into bed, grasping his shoulders and tugging, but Viktor remained firm.

“I’m wearing a suit, Yuura. You don’t want to walk around with a wrinkled mess all day. But, no, it’s not time to go. We have a couple hours.” Viktor’s voice was warm, full of affection, and Yuuri could drown in it.

“Then what is it?” he whined, tugging Viktor again, “Come cuddle.”

And Viktor, gradually gave less resistance, until he let himself be pulled under the covers.

Yuuri cooed happily, curling himself around the Russian, noting the long moment he had to wait before Viktor’s arms came to wrap around him.

“Yuuri. Phichit likes paintings, yes?” the Russian asked softly, gently, knowing that he was tearing at a sore spot.

Yuuri tried his best to keep his mind blank as he nodded. A numb feeling slowly spread through his body, as Yuuri focused on suppressing every little bit of hurt that bloomed at the thought of his best friend.

“Well, we’re going to Christie’s. How about you ask him if he wants something?” The words were soft and encouraging, with the barest sour undertone.

Yuuri loved his fiance so much.

There was an openness to Viktor, which made him so _safe_.  He didn’t exactly tell Yuuri _everything_ , but he didn’t overtly try to hide his emotions.

But Yuuri, feeling vulnerable and cornered, rather than appreciate the indirect honesty, he capitalized on it.

“You don’t even _like_ him,” Yuuri retorted, remembering all of the passive-aggressive bullshit Viktor’s hit Phichit with over the past few weeks.

There was a pause from Viktor. His limbs went a little stiff, and his grip on Yuuri got a little tighter.

“You’re right,” Viktor said, his voice firm, “I don’t like him. I probably never will. He’s my closest competitor, and every moment of my working day is spent making sure that he never gets the chance to _rip me apart._ ”

Yuuri winced, curling further into the Russian’s arms, not needing the reminder.

“I don’t like him, but… But, that doesn’t mean he isn’t your best friend. I like that you have a close friendship with a man that adores you. You deserve whatever makes you happy, Yuuri.” Viktor’s voice warmed, filling with so much unconditional love that Yuuri could cry.

_I used to be unconditionally loved by two people._

_Why wasn’t I good enough?_

_Why couldn’t I make him smile earnestly?_

_I wasn’t worth it, of course, I’m so dumb, I shouldn’t have, I’m not worth it, I’m not worth it-_

A gentle hand tried to coax Yuuri out of hiding, but Yuuri stayed firm, desperately trying to hide his face. If he stayed in Viktor’s arms, he’d be safe. He’d never have to face the world again. That much, Yuuri was sure of. Viktor was many many things, but more than anything, he was Yuuri’s protector.

He’d never let Yuuri get hurt.

Even by himself.

Which was maybe why Viktor was trying to encourage Yuuri to do this.

Yuuri whispered into Viktor’s skin, “He doesn’t love me. That’s why I’m doing this.”

The Russian scoffed, sharp and unamused, “You’re joking.”

Yuuri’s silence spoke for itself.

“Wow. I knew you were insecure. I didn’t know you were stupid.”

That had Yuuri jerking up, instinctively whacking Viktor’s arm in indignation, “Don’t call your fiancé stupid.”

Viktor sent him a dry, judgement-filled look, but the warm smile on his face completely killed any effect it was supposed to have. “Don’t act stupid and we won’t have a problem… But, really, _Yuuri_ , what the fuck ever gave you the idea that Phichit doesn’t love you. You’re soulfriends?”

“Platonic soulmates, excuse you,” Yuuri corrected with some amount of pride in his tone, before he deflated again, “How could he? I chose you over him. He hates me. I _betrayed him_ , Viktor.”

Yuuri’s voice wavered weakly, and Viktor tugged him closer in response, doing his best to comfort his hurting fiancé.

Yuuri remembered Phichit’s fluttering expression of hurt and pain, when he had broken the news.

_You know I’m partnering up with Viktor._

_Right. Congratulations._

_And, because of that, I’m going to have to move to the Japan office._

_I’ll live without you for a couple weeks, Yuuri. We both don’t always have to be in New York._

_No, Phichit. Permanently._

_A long stretch of silence, before Phichit visibly gave Yuuri a fake smile. The first of many. The first of hundreds. The start of Yuuri realizing that Phichit was never going to smile genuinely at him again._

The Russian narrowed his eyes, “Two things. One- would you feel betrayed if, say, Phichit married Seung-Gil?”

“No. I’d feel bad if he kept it a secret or upset I couldn’t see him as often, but otherwise, I’d be really happy for him. I’m his best friend. That’s my job,” Yuuri frowned, slightly upset at the insinuation that Yuuri wouldn’t support his Phichit’s happiness.

“If you wouldn’t feel bad, then why would Phichit?” Viktor asked, making everything sound much too simple.

For a moment, Yuuri could almost see it. For a split second, Yuuri fundamentally understood how badly he’s fucked up, but that realization was once again devoured by blinding anxiety.

“Because…” Yuuri responded softly,

“ _Right._ And second, did Phichit ever _explicitly_ give you any indication that he felt hurt?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri paused, trying to come up with a specific moment, before shaking his head. He felt oddly hollow, a dark sense of foreboding churning in his stomach. It was like a vague tugging feeling pulling him in an in undistinguishable direction.  

_I’ve never been worth Phichit’s affection, and now he’s finally realized it. Except it’s too late. He’s tied to me. He’s stuck, and I never want to chain him down._

_He deserves a better friend._

_I need to let him go._

_He wants me to let him go._

_It hurts, but I’m right._

“Phichit wouldn’t do that. He too nice. He knows I have no other friends. He probably feels like he has to be here. And I just don’t want him to waste his time on me, Viktor.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s voice was full of pity, so soft and gentle, “You would have noticed if he didn’t like you.”

And this, for some reason, just pissed Yuuri off. Maybe it was the insinuation that Viktor knew Phichit better than Yuuri did. Maybe it was that Viktor had a point. But either way, Yuuri’s words came out sharp and biting with little conscious thought behind them.

“Would I? Would I really though? If there’s one thing I know about Phichit. He’s a good liar, Viktor. He’s such a damn good liar,” Yuuri growled, “He has the best intentions, and if _lying_ and _acting_ and _swallowing all of his pain_ will help carry out those good intentions, then he’d do it. Fuck. He’s _been_ doing it. Why the fuck do you think he’s still goddamn around, Viktor? I’ve been actively pushing him away, and he’s still _here_ , smiling and acting like nothing is wrong. He’s lying. He’s lying to me, and I don’t want him to have to do that. He hates me, and I don’t want him to have to be around someone not worth his attention-”

“Stop,” Viktor snapped, voice sharp.

The Russian moved them to a sitting position; Yuuri was tucked snuggly onto Viktor’s lap, giving him a close-up look to his fiancé’s reaction.

Viktor’s eyes were glinting with anger. It was the kind of anger that brought CEOs to their knees and made stock markets quake; Yuuri had never been on the receiving end of such a look, and it made him shiver.

 _I’ve fucked up_. _I shouldn’t have told him. I shouldn’t have told him. Oh god, he hates me. He’s going to know just how weak I am, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,_

But, despite that hard look, the harsh words, Viktor’s hands were so very delicate as they cupped Yuuri’s cheek, intimately stroking a thumb across Yuuri’s skin. And that soft, repetitive motion seemed to echo underneath Yuuri’s mental chanting, providing a combative beat for Yuuri to pay attention to instead of his thoughts.

“Please don’t start regretting talking to me, either,” Viktor called out, somehow reading Yuuri’s mind, “I’m not mad at you. I’m not. I promise. I love you. You’re the light of my life, and being your fiancé is easily the biggest achievement of my life. I’m upset that you’re hurting. I’m angry because I can’t do anything about it. I’m so _frustrated_ that you can’t see how self-destructive you’re being.”

“I’m not being self-destructive, right now,” Yuuri mumbled stubbornly into Viktor’s neck, slowly starting to realize that maybe he was.

_Viktor doesn’t lie to me._

_Viktor is mad, and he’s mad because he thinks I’m not thinking right._

_Phichit lies to me._

_Maybe he’s not lying this time?_

_Everything hurts so much_.

Yuuri breathed out shakily, feeling the beginnings of tears prick his eyes. “Am I? _Viktor?_ ” Yuuri sobbed, “I just- I just want my best friend back.”

All the pain Yuuri was keeping bottled up for Phichit’s benefit flowed out, making his body shake and _god Yuuri just hurt so much._ There was the pain from Phichit lying to him. The pain of having to push his friend away. The pain of seeing a smile on his best friend’s face and knowing it wasn’t real. The pain of not seeing Phichit’s name in his recently called list. The pain of feeling Viktor’s arms around him, and _wishing they were Phichit’s._

His chest panged, over and over again, and Yuuri couldn’t tell if he was having a heart attack or if heartache could hurt this much.

He just wanted his best friend to be happy.

He wanted to make Phichit happy.

_Why can’t Phichit love me? Why can’t I see that Phichit loves me? What wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? WhatswrongwithmewhyamIlikethisfuckIcan’tbreatheithurtssomuch._

Yuuri’s sobs racked through his body, seeming to physically _beat_ him each time he whimpered, clutching onto Viktor with tight fingers.

“Shhh,” Viktor whispered, hugging Yuuri tightly to his chest, rocking him slightly. The Russian’s fingers were firm points of pressure against Yuuri’s back, grounding him into reality as the rest of him seemed to float away in pain.

“I love you, Darling. And… I think he does, too.”

The words curled into Yuuri’s ears, reverberating like a comforting mantra in his mind, easing just a little bit of his bleeding heart.

\--

Viktor smiled at Yuuri, clearly being extra gentle with him. The Russian cooed over Yuuri, straightening his clothes and hair, before turning both of them towards the mirror.

There was a sense of completion between the two.

Yuuri seemed to tuck perfectly into the dips of Viktor’s body, and Viktor seemed to curve around Yuuri. They both looked _good_ together.

Yuuri was in a light tan suit, with a 100% cotton navy button-down, a pair of brown loafers, and $5o,ooo Rolex on his wrist. Nearly everything he was wearing had been a gift from Viktor, which just made him preen. The sense of being constantly reassured by symbols of Viktor’s affection did wonders for his anxiety and Viktor knew it.

Viktor was dressed almost inversely in a dark navy suit. He was wearing a black tie, white silk shirt, and black loafers. It wasn’t as flamboyant as Viktor usually went, but Yuuri had been noticing that his fiancé had been leaning towards darker neutrals lately. Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or concerned, but he was holding out judgment.

Suits were something Yuuri wasn’t particularly a fan of- the sharp lines and constraining feel were not Yuuri’s desired way of approaching a fun day off. However, Viktor enjoyed looking professional, and this was a very small thing Yuuri didn’t mind indulging Viktor in.

Though, Yuuri had hoped that by addressing work early in the morning, they would have had the rest of the day free from the trappings of professionalism.

Viktor slowly brought one of Yuuri’s hands to his mouth, pressing his lips against Yuuri’s knuckles.

“We’ll text him, asking if he wants anything from Christie’s, right?” Viktor asked.

The question should have sparked the anxiety twisting Yuuri's stomach, but it didn't.

There was an undertone to Viktor’s voice, reassuring Yuuri that everything would be okay. Yuuri could say no right now, bury his head in Viktor’s chest, and Viktor would stand by his decision. Or, Yuuri could say yes. And Viktor would be right there, guiding Yuuri along, helping Yuuri until he no longer needed the support.

“Okay,” Yuuri whispered, “I have to do this, don’t I?”

Viktor smiled, pressing another kiss onto Yuuri’s palm, finally steadying Yuuri’s weak stomach. “You both love each other. It’s just a big misunderstanding, Darling.”

Yuuri nodded, tugging Viktor closer, and praying that Viktor was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Satisfying? Not satisfying enough? Did Yuuri hurt enough for your liking?
> 
> A bit of author's notes about this chapter- 
> 
> This might have seemed a bit OC for my Viktor, but it's really not. He loves Yuuri unconditionally, and he's easily the least secretive about his manipulation out of the four CEOs. He bluntly stated his problems with Phichit in every interaction. And somehow that combination somehow ended with Viktor being the bigger man.
> 
> I also really wanted to play with Yuuri's self-destructive tendencies. From the show, we know that much of Yuuri's obstacles were self-made, and I kind of twisted them here to fit the story. *shrugs* My version of Yuuri doesn't care too much about the opinions of others, but finds his insecurities in the ones he loves, which was why Phichit's lying created such a wide gap between the two.
> 
> To be entirely honest, both of them are at fault for the pain they've caused the other, and all this could have been solved by good communication. Yuuri really shouldn't have just starting pushing Phichit away, and Phichit shouldn't have been pretending he was happy when he wasn't.
> 
> Good communication is so important, y'all, please don't act like these dumb beans, lol.
> 
> Right, so, my question... Hm, we definitely need a bit of comedic/fluff relief... would you like   
> Kudo: A scene of Yuri and Otabek working out together  
> Comment: A scene of Seung-Gil being a romantic fool
> 
> I have pretty much the entire Phichit/Yuuri scene written out, so that should post soon-ish? We'll see, but it'll definitely be soon.
> 
> I LOVE ALL OF YOU BUNCHES, HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY FULL OF SMILES!


	13. Two Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri at the auction.  
> Seung-Gil being somewhat soft.  
> Phichit and Yuuri meeting up again, but not really acknowledging jackshit cuz they're occupied.  
> Phichit gets two presents?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME BACK MY LOVELIES!!!
> 
> Okay, so, first off, I just want to say that any author that consistently updates 6,000+ word chapters needs a fucking hug. Because I literally cannot imagine doing this all the time. Oh my god, my fingers HURT.
> 
> Second, sorry for the wait, but I think this is the largest chapter I've ever put up here, so y'all don't really have the right to complain anyways.
> 
> Third, I hope one of these days I'll be able to write something that isn't like 80% dialogue.
> 
> Fourth, a lot of shit happens in this chapter, hopefully, everyone's somewhat okay with it? *shrugs* We'll be giving Victuri the boot after this chapter, so either way it won't matter much after this. YAY NO MORE ANGST???
> 
> Just as a note, I mention MBS, Saudi Arabia, and the mess that's going on down there. It's not particularly bad, but I know a lot of people call that country home and pray in that direction, so I just wanted to give a little heads up. I also mention the US's relationship with Saudi Arabia, so just, be cautious, if that sounds like it'll upset you.
> 
> Other than that, I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! HAVE FUN!! AHHHHH!

Viktor and Yuuri sat side by side in the audience. The couple was undoubtedly just as eye-catching as the pieces on auction. They were two of the most influential people in the world, and they were just _sitting there_.

They practically radiated casual confidence, barely paying attention as they bid on pieces slowly climbing upwards of a million dollars.

“Is this going in the living room?” Yuuri asked, squinting at the chaotic blue splatters. It was much too chaotic for his taste, but Viktor definitely had a better eye for interior design than he did.

The Russian grinned, “It suits the color scheme perfectly, doesn’t it?”

Yuuri shrugged, “I’m none the wiser, but we’ll get whatever makes you happy.”

Overdramatically, Viktor pretended to faint at Yuuri’s words, before pulling his fiancé closer and pressing a soft kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “Of course, we’re getting what makes me happy. I’m the one buying.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry, whose company had a growth rate of 10.4 percent this year? Was it yours?”

The Russian huffed, as a soft smile played at his lips, “I’m sorry, you’re married to a corporate dinosaur.”

Yuuri shrugged, flipping their marker in the air again, placing a bid for 1.55 million dollars. “I mean, 2.9 percent would land you as a baby dinosaur at best, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I can’t figure out if that’s better or worse.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes, subtly tucking in closer to Viktor, needing a little stability. Though it was a rather bad move to seem vulnerable in public, Yuuri was still a little sensitive after this morning and Viktor was the only comfort he had.

Almost immediately, Viktor placed an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, somehow making the movement look lazy. Anyone watching would never guess that Yuuri was insecurely cuddling into Viktor’s side, if anything, they’d assume Viktor was a jealous asshole.

After the Russian pressed a soft kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head, he growled, “This is taking _too long_.”

The couple had been bidding on the piece for the last ten minutes and were locked in a bit of a bidding war between them and a stern, elderly woman. She was sending them an icy glare as she raised her paddle to bid 1.6 million.

Yuuri went to raise their paddle up again, and she immediately followed again, looking at them like she was daring them to bid again.

That had been her mistake. There were two things she should have known about Viktor at the moment. One, he really fucking wanted a blue splatter painting in his dining room. Two, he’d never back down from a challenge.

“I’m done,” Viktor spat, gently taking the paddle from Yuuri and calling out, “3 million dollars.”

Completely unsurprised and maybe a tad irritated, Yuuri sent him a look, “Really? You just had to _double_ the price?”

“It got her to sit down, didn’t it?” Viktor answered, looking far too proud of himself.

Yuuri was about to argue, when he turned around to see the woman sitting down and talking on the phone, looking rather disappointed.

“I guess it did,” Yuuri sighed.

_I'm engaged to a child, oh my god._

A worker came by to offer Viktor the necessary paperwork in order to officially buy the piece. He easily took the clipboard, signing flourishes on each dotted line, before writing down the shipping address.

As Viktor was doing that, Yuuri glanced back down at the list of pieces on auction, eyes widening.

_Peter Doig._

_Phichit loves that artist_.

Phichit had said he didn’t know what was on auction, so Yuuri shouldn’t worry about buying him anything.

However, Yuuri _knew_ that if Phichit had seen this, he’d have wanted it. Desperately. It was exactly the sort of thing Phichit liked. It was almost entirely lemon yellow, seafoam greens, and creamy off-white, with an odd little rainbow in the middle.

**_Piece 38_ **

**_Country-rock (Wing-mirror) by Peter Doig_ **

**_Starting Price: 3 million USD_ **

_This would work in his living room, wouldn’t it?_ Yuuri wondered, imagining the bright, comfy space.

“Viktor,” Yuuri poked the man’s shoulder, “I’m buying this one for Phichit.”

Viktor glanced down at the painting before he nodded, smiling warmly; he was visibly proud of Yuuri speaking up about doing something for Phichit, “Chulanot has inarguably good taste, though, don’t you mean _we’re_ buying it?’

Yuuri shook his head, feeling a little gooey inside, “Nope. I’m buying.”

Viktor blinked and looked at him silently. “You do realize Doig pieces tend to sell upwards of 10 million, yes?”

“Yep.”

“So you realize, you’ll be paying more than your _annual salary_? Yuura. Please be reasonable.”

Viktor was right. But, Yuuri undoubtedly gave zero fucks, if it meant that he could give Phichit some semblance of happiness, or make up even the slightest bit for all the wrongs he’s made.

“I’m buying it,” Yuuri stated, voice firm, daring Viktor to argue with him.

The Russian’s face was blank; there was a hint of sharpness in his sky blue eyes. The couple stared at each other, each waiting for the other to give in; predictably, Viktor yielded first, sighing softly.

“Our accountant is going to _hate you_.”

Yuuri grinned, “But, you love me, and isn’t that all that matters?”

\--

**3 hours earlier**

“You’re joking,” Min-So said, disgust dripping from her voice.

Seung-Gil shook his head silently.

Min-So’s face was twisted slightly as if she thought the very idea of being nice was repugnant. It wasn’t surprising. No matter how sharp Seung-Gil thought he was, Min-So was undoubtedly worse. 

Last year, she had viciously fought a lawsuit regarding the possible addictivity of one of their new prescription drugs. She had dragged the case out for an entire year until the accuser’s assets were drained… And then, she forced the poor man to pay for the company’s exorbitant court fees. When Seung-Gil had asked her if that much viciousness was really needed, she just shrugged and blamed it on PMS.

She was almost scarily sadistic.

But, she always won, and that’s why Seung-Gil kept her around.

“He wants it,” Seung-Gil said simply.

“ _He wants it_ ,” Min-So repeated mockingly, before she sighed, “Just because we can afford things, doesn’t mean I’ll let you throw money out the window, Sajang-nim.”

“We?” Seung-Gil asked, amused.

She sent him a flat look, “You’re my _boss_ aren’t you?” However, the way Min-So said boss, indicated she meant something far more demeaning.

Seung-Gil clicked his tongue, subtly chiding Min-So for acting out of turn. Her reaction was immediate, making her stand up straight and look at the floor, though the twist of her mouth still showed her distaste.

“It will be hard to find a bidder,” she stated, “Peter Doig is a rather popular artist.”

“However?”

“I do have a contact at Christie's. We could, potentially, buy it for an obscenely large price before it goes on auction,” Min-So said.

“Do it.”

“It’s has a 3 million USD starting price. You’ll have to go to at least 20,” she warned.

Seung-Gil furrowed his brows, wondering if Phichit was worth 20 million dollars.

Literally speaking, Phichit wasn’t. People were rarely worth more than a few thousand dollars on the black market. Men even less so. Persons older than 25 even less than _that_.

Figuratively speaking, Seung-Gil was doing this to win over Phichit’s affections, or to ease his sadness, both actions, were, of course, essentially worthless and would offer no monetary return to Seung-Gil.

But, there were little waves of affection just barely brushing against Seung-Gil’s toes, lightly reminding him that it would be hard to work knowing that Phichit was upset. It was an odd feeling. Unique in a way.

It wasn’t completely novel: Seung-Gil has experience with affection. It’s simply that any sort of affection he’s experienced is grounding, weighty and opaque. This though, with Phichit, made his stomach feel not quite settled, almost nauseatingly light and airy. Maybe, it was because of this more than anything else- the compelling nature of a new experience- that had Seung-Gil so certain.

He would pay for a novel experience, and this is, in some way, a novel experience.

“That’s perfectly fine.”

\--

The bright yellow Doig piece was up next, and Yuuri felt adrenaline seeping into his veins.

_I’m going to fight a bitch. Jesus._

And then Yuuri remembered the obscene price tag on the piece.

_My bank account is gonna have a heart attack, oh my god._

But fuck it, if Phichit wanted it, Yuuri was going to buy it. The screen at the front of the room lit up.

**_Piece 38_ **

**_Country-rock (Wing-mirror) by Peter Doig_ **

**_Starting Price: 3 million USD_ **

Yuuri grabbed his paddle, ready to whip it up faster than he would whip out his dick for a Viktor in lingerie.

However, instead of naming the starting price, the auctioneer pulled out a piece of paper and read it aloud, sounding confused, “Apologies ladies and gentlemen, it seems as if the owner of the piece has abruptly reconsidered putting the painting on auction. Christie’s is very sorry for any inconvenience.”

It took a moment for Yuuri to realize what had happened, and then almost immediately, his twitchy adrenaline drained from his body. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Yuuri slumped back in his chair, feeling like a failure.

Viktor chuckled, pecking Yuuri’s cheek, trying his best to soothe Yuuri.

“It’s okay, dear. It’s the thought that counts," Viktor cooed, "You'll find something else to give him. This painting isn't going to make or break your relationship."

Yuuri nodded, knowing that, but unable to shift the stone of fear and disappointment weighing down his stomach.

  
\--

In the end, Phichit didn’t get to decide whether or not he was going to cancel. Work did it for him.

Celestino peaked his head into Yuuri’s office, “We have a problem.”

Phichit looked up from his laptop, raising an eyebrow, “Look, I get that you don’t want me to see, Yuuri, but this is a little low.”

The PA rolled his eyes, waving his hand as if to physically brush off the conversation, “No, no. We have a legitimate problem. The Riyadh deal just fell through.”

“Riyadh? We don’t have anything- wait, the _building?_ ”

“The Saudi’s said they won’t support homosexuals.”

“A company isn’t gay.”

“But you are.”

Phichit felt his stomach drop as his heart rate kicked up; his face felt both hot and cold, and it was just a little too hard to hear Celestino’s words. Out of everything to happen, this really wasn’t what he needed at the moment. “We’re a fucking year into construction. What the _absolute fuck?_ ”

“Sorry, but, MBS is scared of dicks,” Celestino drawled. His calm voice did a rather good job of suppressing Phichit’s own anxiety. “On the bright side, it wouldn’t exactly have been a good move to seem friendly with MBS after the whole reporter scandal.”

The Thai CEO slapped the tabletop, annoyed, “Why the fuck do Americans have to decide that their fucking slave contract with the Saudi’s is outdated _now?_ They couldn’t have figured this out, oh, _I don’t know_ , maybe before they participated in an entire fucking war?”

Celestino shrugged, “We’re sluts for oil.”

“Yeah,” Phichit retorted, “Your food was a big hint.”

“Regardless,” the PA started, “We’ll have to sort this out. I’ll create a timetable, and set up calls, but there will be a lot of paperwork and reading for you to do. We have to find a new city fast. I’m sure the people we were contacting a few months ago would still be available, but the deals won’t be.”

“They’ll know we’re desperate.”

Celestino nodded, “We’re looking at Dubai, Cairo, Baghdad, Abu Dhabi, and Istanbul.”

Phichit nodded, already able to imagine the sheer amount of calls he’ll be making tonight, the anticipation of exhaustion seeping into his bones already making them heavy.

“Go ahead and make a to-do list,” Phichit sighed, “I’ll let Yuuri know that I have to cancel.”

Celestino nodded, before jogging out, and Phichit felt a wave of sympathy.

As much work as Phichit had, Celestino undoubtedly had more. It was the PA’s job to pick and choose what tasks to assign to the CEO, and in many ways, Celestino was just as powerful as Phichit was.

Shaking his head, Phichit pulled out his phone, unsure whether he was relieved or disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see Yuuri.

**To: Yuuri**

**Sorry work came up, can I call a rain check?**  
  


Almost immediately, his phone buzzed.

**From: Yuuri**

**I don’t mind if it’s late. When will you get out of the office?**

**To: Yuuri**

**No, like. I’m in a bit of trouble. I’m going to be up all night.**

**From: Yuuri**

**Oh.**

**From: Yuuri**

**Can I help with anything?**

**From: Yuuri**

**I mean, I don’t know, but I’m kind of a CEO, I could help**

**From: Yuuri**

**It’ll be like college. Except higher stakes and less cocaine.**

 

**To: Yuuri**

**RIP**

**To: Yuuri**

**Um, I don’t want to put you to work on your vacation.**  
  
  


**From: Yuuri**

**Oh hush. Helping you is hardly work. Can I show up at 7? I’ll bring food.**

Phichit struggled to come up with a response.

**To: Yuuri**

**Okay**

 

**From: Yuuri**

**Great <3**

History shows that Phichit should have been freaking out, but there was far too much stress and adrenaline rushing through his body for him to frankly give a shit.

\--

It was 6:58. Phichit hadn't eaten since lunch. He was up to his chin in reading and paperwork. This latest call, he'd been talking to his CFO for nearly an hour, desperately trying to figure out a way to plug the cash flow quickly bleeding out of his company.

"Look, I get it, but there's no use in building another branch within the EU. I'd much rather go to Japan if those are the options. But that's not even what we're talking about right now, Jesus. We'll just need to create a management body beforehand."

"Right," the CFO drawled, "Where are you going to put them, up your ass? I get that your ass is loose, but it's not that loose."

"I was thinking yours. I mean there's already a giant stick up there, might as well add a fucking management team," Phichit spat.

There was a frustrated sigh from the other line, and the CFO sighed, "We aren't getting anywhere. I'll call back a little later. Maybe the board has some ideas."

"I'd much rather try San Fran. The board are idiots."

"Hey, my wife is a board member."

"I know."

"I'm hanging up Phichit."

"Bye!" Phichit called, forcing a sugary cheer into his voice

A soft, rough chuckle came from the other side before the line clicked closed.

Phichit groaned, drumming his hands against the tabletop. As far as his own stress and anxiety issues went, Phichit was rather good with working under stress.

It took a little while for him to get a grasp on the situation, but after that brief moment, Phichit was rather efficient. His fingers didn’t shake and his stomach didn’t churn. Whether that was just because he had extensive callous to a stressful working environment or that he was just very good at going numb, Phichit wasn’t particularly sure.

Either way, it worked.

The CEO sighed, standing up and moving to stretch out his sore joints.

 _I’m going to miss my workout_.

It wasn’t ideal. Either he’d have to cut calories from dinner tonight or double his exercise the next day, and neither option was particularly appealing. Or, he could just not do either of those and suffer feeling odd and bloated for the next few days.

Phichit pouted to himself, touching his toes, enjoying the slight burn in his thighs, before freezing in that position as he heard shouting from outside his door.

“ _How’d you even_ get here,” Celestino’s voice was muffled through the door, before becoming clear as the door banged open.

Yuuri walked in, heavy with two plastic takeout bags, a large messenger bag, and six cups of various coffee.

Phichit slowly straightened, silent, as he watched Yuuri struggle to set everything down.

“Well, I heard that Phichit needed some help, and I’m free. I’m fine with being kept on assistant duty. It’s understandable to want to keep me away from sensitive stuff, considering my conflict of interest, but what are friends for?” Yuuri said, warmth glowing from his words.

He was wearing a button down and fashionable jeans, but his most notable accessory were his drooping eyes.

However, those eyes quickly crinkled into a smile when Yuuri saw him. A warm slightly awkward smile spread across his face, far too authentic for Phichit to discredit.

Yuuri looked… Not bad, or tired, or even disheveled, just _off_. It was as if a little trace of sadness was staining Yuuri’s skin, and Phichit could tell, somewhat.

But he could hardly bring himself to pay attention, not when his best friend was here, and warm, and caring, without Viktor, with his fluffy black hair, and newly pierced ears.

Yuuri always walked with a certain amount of poise; it was his straight posture and his graceful steps. And it was rare to catch Yuuri walking any other way. It was always smooth, even steps as if Yuuri needed every possible second to assess the world around him. Yuuri’s odd combination of anxiety and confidence resulted in a very specific gait.

Right now, though, Yuuri raced at him, stepping unevenly, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to hug Phichit; the man haphazardly threw his arms around Phichit, wrapping him up tightly.

Yuuri's skin always smelled faintly of something warm. Likely just the spices of Japanese food, long since permanently seeped into his pores, but either way, it was soft and light, and it smelled like home.

But, what was new was the way Yuuri was squeezing him tightly, not just passively participating, but actively pulling Phichit closer. Yuuri had never been a huge fan of instigating physical contact.

"Hello," Phichit chirped, puzzled more than anything else.

"Hi," Yuuri whispered, his voice flooded with affection, and weighted with something heavy, "It’s so good to see you.”

The words had so much unspoken strife behind them, and while Phichit couldn't figure out what it was referring to.

“It’s good to see you, too?” Phichit responded, confused.

Phichit was far too concerned about the crisis at hand to have the emotional capacity to analyse this situation, so, Phichit just rolled with it. There was nothing but a messy pool of happiness at having Yuuri near, and for now, that was enough.

Celestino raised an eyebrow, clearly asking what he should do, and Phichit subtly tilted his towards the door, letting the PA know that it was okay to leave.

Celestino reluctantly left the room, waving his phone in order to remind Phichit that he was just a call away as if he was leaving Phichit alone with a lion.

Yuuri nuzzled lightly into Phichit’s neck, “You changed perfumes.”

Phichit laughed, blushing slightly, enjoying the attention. “Yeah, I did.”

“I like it.”

Phichit giggled, feeling Yuuri childishly rock the two of them left to right. It was as if Yuuri had never left, and Phichit felt so whole and warm. He was soaking up the attention like a sponge, engraving every moment deep into his memories.

It was after an entire few minutes of this, of Phichit breathing in Yuuri’s scent and Yuuri doing god knows what, that they finally separated. Yuuri looked at him with sparkling eyes and a serious expression.

“So. Fill me in?” Yuuri asked.

\--

Two hours later, all the coffee Yuuri had brought was gone.

There was a comfortable silence settled between the two. The sort of silence that comes with having a mutual set of work, bred from efficiency more than anything else. There hadn’t been much more discussing other than

Yuuri was lounging on the couch, flipping through a stack of paper and making notes. Phichit’s research team had done _too well_ of a job, giving Phichit a stack of nearly 50 pages for each individual city they had been scouting.

It was a straightforward task, and the one Yuuri had picked for himself, bluntly stating, _We both know I have a conflict of interest, and I don’t want anyone to say that I purposely sabotaged anything._

And then Yuuri flashed Phichit a smile, grabbed the nearly five-inch high stack, and started reading.

Phichit was too conflicted to muster up a response, so he silently nodded, and grabbed the folders of phone numbers Celestino had left for Phichit.

Phichit had been on the phone for a solid forty-five minutes, going back and forth with his CFO, swiping about the Leadership team they had already set up there. They were on speakerphone, for both Phichit’s sanity and so that Yuuri could casually eavesdrop.

“We _need them_. We can’t just fire a hundred high ranked officers because we don’t have a place to put them,” Phichit argued.

His CFO laughed sharply, almost as if mocking Phichit, his voice crackling slightly over the speakerphone, “That’s hilarious. We’re firing a hundred highly ranked officers because MBS could literally fucking kill them, if they operate under the Chulanot brand.”

“They’d be able to move somewhere else,” Phichit reasoned, “They just need to wait a couple months.”

“More like two years. I was speaking to our architect, and if time was our priority, it would still take two years.  It would take two years to build a new building. Two years that we’d either have to pay millions in salaries that they aren’t earning or cut them off and pray they won’t run off somewhere else.”

“They have things to do, though, they just need a space to do them.”

“Well, we can’t uproot them from Saudi Arabia, not when we don’t even have a place to put them yet,” the CFO shot back, not bowing an inch.

Phichit groaned, hitting his head against the table, unable to stand the constant cycling of the conversation. Each problem led to another, led to another, led to another, until Phichit felt like a stripper at the end of their shift: dizzy, tired, and very much done with egotistical men for the night.

And then all of a sudden, Yuuri looked away from the large stack of papers in his hand and turned towards Phichit.

“You’ll need a space to store a hundred white-collar workers in Saudi Arabia without the Chulanot name?” Yuuri questioned.

Phichit blinked, before nodding.

“That’s a pretty apt way of putting it,” Phichit answered.

Yuuri opened his mouth, before closing it again, seeming conflicted, as if he was determined to say something but wary of Phichit’s response.

The expression kickstarted Phichit’s heart rate.

“What is it?” Phichit asked reluctantly.

The Japanese man winced, but he slowly, softly explained, “Yutopia has a rather large building in Saudi Arabia. I wouldn’t mind clearly a floor or two for you. It would be more realistic if a major business ‘stole’ your employees, rather than an obscure shell company.”

Phichit’s response was immediate, “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering. You aren’t asking.” The words were firm.

“But…”

“Ask your cranky accountant if that will work,” Yuuri said, ignoring Phichit’s hesitance.

“Fuck you and your cranky accountant bullshit, I’m a fucking CFO,” the man on the phone spat in response, though there was very little actual venom in his voice.

“Did you hear what Yuuri said?” Phichit asked, ignoring the outburst and waiting for the CFO to sarcastically reject Yuuri’s idea the way he’d been rejecting Phichit’s.

Except, the CFO seemed to have calmed down, bluntly answering, “It’s a good idea.”

Phichit gasped his betrayal, “Whose side are you on?”

“The one that gives me fattest bank account… The only issue is that Chulanot won’t be able to offer those employees any sort of benefits or salary for quite a while, so you’ll have to add them to your payroll. At least for the next two fiscal quarters, until MBS decides that homophobia is no longer his number one concern. Well, that and whatever logistical issues you’ll have on your end.”

In essence, all of it made sense. It was a rather good idea- for Phichit. Yuuri was essentially going to be bleeding out, albeit at a very minor level, for two years.

“Wait,” Phichit burst out, realizing something, “You’re gay, too! Why the fuck isn’t he coming after you?”

Yuuri shrugged, “Saudi Arabia and Russia have a tentative alliance at the moment. There was the oil deal in July and the support Russia gave during the whole Reporter scandal. They know better than to fuck with me.”

“Right. I don’t even think you’ve ever even _been in_ Russia.”

Yuuri smirked, “A Russian’s been in _me_. Isn’t that basically the same thing?”

Phichit sent him a look, desperately trying not to laugh, “ _Wow._ You’re so mature.”

“I’m sorry, who’s the one that literally cries during _Finding Nemo_?” Yuuri asked incredulously.

The Thai man gasped, dramatically clutching his chest, “That’s such a _low blow,_ Jesus, Yuuri.”

Yuuri grinned, pulling Phichit closer into a loose hug. It was an awkward, casual move, genuine in every way, and it made Phichit’s heart flutter.

Yuuri apologized, grinning, “I’m sorry. You’re very mature. Even if you have the emotional capacity of a toddler.”

Phichit squirmed in Yuuri’s hold, trying to get away from the mean person that kept hurling affectionate insults. Hindered by his giggles, Phichit was unable to get more than a couple inches of wiggle room; Yuuri was far stronger than he looked.

“You’re mean,” Phichit pouted.

Yuuri sighed, his happy smile shifting into more somber, “I don’t mean be. I only want the best for you. I can just be a little dumb sometimes.”

Phichit frowned, about to ask _just what Yuuri meant by that,_ when his CFO shouted, “Yo, Yuuri, I appreciate you lots, but I’m going to have to ask you to sign a contract. You know, just for the safety of our employees.”

The moment shattered, and Yuuri stepped back, leaning towards the phone, “Send it to Celestino. I’ll sign it here.”

“Awesome.”

“Just for a point of reference. How much am I throwing out the window?” Yuuri asked, pulling out his phone and opening the note app.

“We’ll need you to do the full amount for the next 6 months, and then we can start wiring money, so, about, 30 million? And then there’s whatever loses you’ll have logistically, as well, which I’d put at about another 10 million. All in US dollars, of course. We’ll pay you back later.”

Yuuri and Phichit winced simultaneously, though Yuuri quickly shook off his shock and typed down a couple of notes.

“No need to pay me back. Consider this a present,” Yuuri said.

Unlike both Viktor and Seung-Gil, Yuuri and Phichit didn’t exactly come from filthy amounts of money. Their families were definitely well off, but not so much so that money lost its value.

Viktor had so much black money and government backing, his family had an estimated net worth in the billions. Seung-Gil came old money so vast and vague, it was impossible to figure out just exactly where his wealth stopped.

Phichit was just the son of a mildly wealthy Wallstreet investor. Yuuri was the son of a high-up hotel director. Their families would take an extravagant vacation or two every summer, and then softly reject their children’s other requests for the rest of the year. Million dollar homes and luxury cars were still large purchases that were made with extensive planning. Their parents still warily approached MIT’s hefty college tuition.

 “Yuuri this isn’t a personal expense. This is damaging your _company_ ,” Phichit emphasized, trying to get Yuuri to see sense.

While, of course, the thought of Yuuri doing this for Phichit made the man feel soft and warm and _cared for_ , Phichit couldn’t let Yuuri just shoot his company in the foot for him. There was no way. Especially when Yuuri didn’t love him, when Yuuri had moved on.

“I know that Phichit,” Yuuri said, not understanding what Phichit was saying, not understanding that he was literally hurting himself on Phichit’s behalf.

“ _You can’t do this for me_ ,” Phichit said, voice wobbling slightly.

As the older heard the weakness in Phichit’s voice, Yuuri turned towards Phichit. Yuuri’s warm, brown eyes widened in surprise at Phichit tearing up. Almost instinctively, Yuuri tugged Phichit closer, intertwining their hands.

“You’re the _only one_ I’d do this for,” Yuuri whispered, “What do you mean, I can’t do it?”

“You shouldn’t… I’m not…”

“Please don’t say that you aren’t worth it. I’m the one with crippling insecurity, Phichit, why are you stealing my lines?” Yuuri teased softly, ever so gently, as if he was afraid Phichit would shatter under his words.

“You…” Phichit paused, swallowing tears while trying to articulate his argument, “We aren’t close enough to… I just, don’t think you should be doing this for me, when you barely want me around.”

The words, while hurtful, rang true in Phichit’s chest.

Yuuri visibly choked up, stumbling over his words, until he was finally able to get out a strangled, “I’m so _sorry_. I love you so much, Phichit. I’m sorry for being distant and hurtful these past couple weeks, but please don’t release our years of friendship over my stupidity. Please? I’m going to do my best to make it up to you.”

Yuuri looked heartbroken as if seeing Phichit upset had actually hurt him. And if there was one thing Phichit couldn’t stand was Yuuri looking upset.

It was unclear who instigated it, but they crashed into each other. Fingers dug into clothes and noses were pressed against necks.

“Don’t leave me, please,” Phichit begged, the words falling from his lips without his permission.

Yuuri seemed to sob into the other’s shoulder, his body racking once before he released broken words against Phichit’s neck. “I’ll never leave you again, I promise.”

It was like both of their walls were down. The dams were broken, and they’d finally be able to communicate properly with each other. Maybe their soft, sensitive selves will be able to mend back together and heal into something capable of still being together.

“Wow. Okay. I’m just going to hang up now. Katsuki, I’ll send you the paperwork. Phichit, we still have to pick a new location, so please don’t get distracted by… whatever this is. I’m here if you have questions, bye,” the CFO cut in, sounding disgusted by his and Yuuri’s conversation before hanging up.

The moment was broken, shattering into pieces on the floor.

_I really fucking hate my CFO._

Yuuri stepped back with an awkward laugh, wiping away his tears. Phichit did the same wrapping his arms around himself in a pseudo-self-hug.

“We should probably get back to work,” Phichit whispered, shoving his emotions back into their labeled boxes.

Yuuri nodded, not exactly uncomfortable, but moving a tad too jerkily to be entirely carefree.

\--

Yuuri and Phichit sighed in relief as they walked into Phichit’s apartment.

It was 5AM. They had finally found a new home in Istanbul for Phichit’s new building. Yuuri had signed a contract worth 37 million dollars. And they both were bone tired.

“Do you still have the same uber soft mattress?” Yuuri asked, voice full of hope.

“I mean, yeah? What kind of question is that?”

Yuuri let out a desperate, delirious sound, leaning against Phichit’s shoulder as they walked towards the bedroom. “Viktor makes me sleep on a rock. Our mattress is so _hard_.”

“Viktor’s a fucking dick,” Phichit snorted, not joking at all.

Yuuri groaned, voice rough from sleep, “Oh, yeah, totally. But he also fucks me really nice with that dick, so I can’t complain much.”

"Right. Thanks. Just remind me of everything that I'm missing. Do you know how long it's been since I've been fucked properly? Do you?" Phichit growled playfully.

Phichit turned on the bedroom lights and went to his closet. He got a pair of sweats and a cotton shirt for Yuuri, throwing the bundle of fabric at his friend before grabbing a change of clothes for himself. Phichit didn’t bother covering himself as he stripped down to his boxers and changed into his pajamas.

Yuuri did the same, rolling his eyes at Phichit’s words, "It's not my fault that you decided to be an angst train with no stops."

"You were an angst train, too!" Phichit whined.

Yuuri hummed; the man’s eyes were fluttering sleepily as he slipped under the bed’s covers. "Yeah. But I was an angst train with a 9 inch dick to help take my mind off the train track."

Phichit dabbed at his face with oil-blotting tissues. He was far too tired to actually wash his face, and he was praying that he wouldn’t regret that decision in the morning.

"Now, you're just bragging… Ughhhh," Phichit groaned, remembering what he had said to Seung-Gil, "Fuck, I really fucked up."

"With me?" Yuuri’s voice sounded louder, more awake, like the idea scared the shit out of him.

"No, no..." Phichit reassured. He threw away the oil sheets and switched off the lights, before stumbling his way back to the bed.

As he got comfortable under the blanket, fluffing up his pillow, Phichit wondered just how much he should tell Yuuri. "Seung-Gil."

"Seung-Gil?" Yuuri questioned.

They were laying side by side, in the dark, arms touching just barely, speaking out into the darkness. Somehow, that made it easier. If Phichit didn’t have to fully acknowledge that it was Yuuri right next to him, he could say things he otherwise might not be overly comfortable with.

Phichit nodded, feeling the lie slip from his tongue as easy as air, “He’s been trying to flirt me into a business deal for a while, and I might have maybe exploded at him today."

The words came instinctively, without Phichit having to think about it, and for the first time, Phichit wondered if he had a problem. He didn’t remember it being this easy to lie.

"You never explode."

" _Someone_ had me feeling extra emotional today. Anyways, I totally told him that he only wants to get into my pants and to stop thinking that faked emotional comfort will convince me to go into business with him."

Yuuri paused for a slow moment, processing everything Phichit said, before he screeched, "Oh. My. God. You've been fucking Seung-Gil Lee?"

Phichit groaned, burying his face into the pillow, "Trying to. The whole different continents thing is an issue. I've been working him for a while, and I'd say he's fairly interested."

"Then what's the point of saying all that,” Yuuri asked, puzzlement in his voice, “If you want him?”

Phichit rolled his eyes, "Please. He doesn't actually like me, the entire reason he was even interested in me in the first place was business."

"Yeah, but it could be something different now,” Yuuri suggested, sounding like an intellectual with an ability to observe context and then change his perspective.

Phichit, at the moment, was not an intellectual.

“The only thing that’s changed is that he _also_ wants to fuck me now."

"Does that hurt you?" Yuuri asked, a bit of protectiveness in his voice, “Because, I could make him leave you alone, if you want?”

Phichit shook his head and then realized it was dark, so Yuuri couldn’t see him.

 "I mean, except in the sense that he's a man who doesn’t believe I'm a worthy life partner, I don't give much of a shit. I thought he was boyfriend material in the beginning, but it was just his rock hard abs manipulating the shit out of me. He's powerful and rich and has a daddy kink. All those things make him a great fucking partner, but he’s not exactly life partner material."

Yuuri hummed, the sound low and gravelly, "That makes sense. Well, I'm still willing to bet he's halfway in love with you, but either way, do you need any help getting his dick?" Yuuri asked, sounding far too chipper at the idea, making Phichit giggle.

"No... He’s coming to town in about week, so I'll probably bang him then, and then decide what to do about it afterward."

“Good plan.”

Phichit yawned, the movement stretching out his face and making his jaw ache, “Can we please go to sleep, I’m tired.”

“Sure, honey.”

Phichit mumbled thanks and then passed the fuck out.

\--

BRRINNGGGGG

BRRINNGGGGG

“ _Fuck_ ” Phichit mumbled, shoving his face into his pillow.

“Is that your phone or mine?” Yuuri groaned, voice utterly wrecked from sleep.

“It’s the doorbell,” Phichit whispered.

Yuuri hummed, turning back over and pulling the blanket over his face, “You get it, it’s your penthouse.”

“I hate you.”

Yuuri said something incoherent, before going resolutely silent and ignoring Phichit.

With bleary eyes and weak limbs, Phichit stumbled out of bed, muttering under his breath about his _fucking sleepy ass panda friend_. It was only because Phichit had the layout to his penthouse committed to memory that he didn’t accidentally smash his nose against a wall.

It was a little bit of walking and much more muttering that Phichit reached the intercom.

“Yes?” he gritted out.

“Mr. Chulanot, sir, there’s a delivery for you.”

“What time is it?” Phichit asked, leaning against the wall for some support.

“It’s eleven thirty-five in the morning, sir,” the receptionist said, voice professionally placid.

“Send it up, please,” Phichit requested, hanging up and breathing deeply, attempting to open his eyes.

Fuck he was so tired.

Fuck.

 _What even was this delivery?_ Phichit wondered, trying to figure out if he had ordered a dildo or something in the past few days.

Slow, unsteady footsteps approached him, getting louder before Yuuri came and leaned on top of Phichit.

“I forgot to tell Viktor that I was staying over,” Yuuri mumbled, with much less sleep in his voice than a few minutes ago, “I have 32 missed calls and 89 unread texts. I think he called the police.”

“Wow. You have such a _healthy_ relationship,” Phichit mumbled.

Yuuri flicked Phichit’s nose, “He gets worried. Anyways, who’s coming?”

“It’s a delivery. Not sure what for.”

“Mmhm.”

Phichit fluttered his eyes open and watched the elevator’s display increase as it got closer and closer to Phichit’s 70th floor penthouse.

“I know I say it a lot, but it’s so extra that you have your own elevator,” Yuuri said, ruffling Phichit’s hair.

Phichit huffed, rubbing his eyes and finally stepping away from the wall, awake enough to not need the support anymore.

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing two large men in suits and a large, slim box. They were intimidatingly broad-shouldered, and they stepped inside with little hesitation. With blank faces and black earpieces, Phichit would have easily believed they were FBI agents instead of delivery men.

Phichit, still a little too sleepy to have a proper reaction time, just blinked.

Yuuri, however, stepped forward and in front of Phichit slightly, as if he was shielding him from view. “Excuse me, can I help you?” he asked, voice sharp and clear.

The two of them ducked their head submissively, before the taller one answered, “We have a delivery for Mr. Chulanot from Christie’s, on behalf of a Mr. Lee.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes, “Is it the Peter Doig piece that was supposed to be on auction yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

Yuuri turned towards Phichit, completely ignoring the intimidating men, and gave his friend a wide-eyed look, “That piece didn’t even make it to _auction_. He bought it directly from the seller. Fuck, this is worth 20 million, at least.”

Phichit froze, struggling to catch up with the situation.

“I’m so pissed. I was going to buy it for you, and this asshole steals it from right underneath my nose.” The Japanese man pouted, not actually looking angry, just like Phichit, his main visible emotion was confusion.

“I don’t… I didn’t ask him to…” Phichit stumbled over his words, having trouble understanding just how a 20 million dollar painting was in his penthouse.

Yuuri sent Phichit a look, “Are you sure he doesn’t like you? Because as far as gestures go, this is pretty damn romantic.”

Phichit just sighed, turning around and heading back to his bedroom.

“I’m going to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL, tag yourself, I'm Phichit's slow ass reaction time.
> 
> Anyways, I hope that was lowkey what everyone was hoping for? They didn't exactly end up clearing the air, but they both got some semblance of venting out? Phichit's not going to be pining anymore... too much, anyway. $37 million dollars could fuck me up the ass, you know?
> 
> Also, RIP that CFO tho. IDK what his problem was, but he was fun to write.
> 
> Okay, so,  
> Kudos: Do we want to see Seung-Gil with his family??  
> Comments: Or do we want scenes from the PA's?
> 
> UNTIL NEXT TIME, OH MY GOSH, I ADORE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A LOVELY DAY???


	14. Filler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor gets bashed. Seung-Gil and Phichit are circling around each other. Min-So has a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOOOO. WHAT UP FAM??
> 
> It's been a while, you guys, sorry about that. School and life and college stuff has been really busy. And uh, studio Art is a lot more work than you think it is... ANYWAYS
> 
> This is a bit of filler chapter but it's mostly just to bridge the gap between these two arcs. Also, we wanted scenes from the PA's. We got one from Min-So, but we'll get one from Celestino next time, because I learned about something and now I have ideas.

Chapter 13

“So how did it go?” Viktor asked, casually, acting as if they weren’t leaving a police precinct.

“Well,” Yuuri answered, “We worked pretty much through the night, and then gave confessions right before we went to bed. Like we’re still shaky, but better?” Yuuri answered.

“That’s good,” Viktor smiled. The Russian wordlessly opened the driver’s side door for Yuuri, acting like a gentleman and acknowledging his inability to drive at the same time.

Yuuri settled into the seat easily, having driven enough Bentley’s to know all the controls, waiting for Viktor to walk around and settle himself. Viktor flopped into the passenger seat, slipping off his coat, setting his clutch in the console, and opened the mirror to fix his hair.

Yuuri waited patiently, wanting to Viktor a minute before he embarrassed him.

After a few moments of poking at his perfectly gelled silver hair, Viktor hummed, looking towards Yuuri with a smile.

Yuuri smiled back.

“Really, you called the fucking police?” Yuuri asked, incredulous.

“ _Yuuri,_ ” Viktor whined, “I was worried.”

“The only thing you should be worried about is sleeping on the couch, jesus. You called the chief of police. I was gone for less than 24 hours,” Yuuri complained, starting the car.

“Sorry.”

“Hm,” Yuuri sighed.

“ _So,_ _how’d it go_?” Viktor asked, sounding like a suburban housewife.

Yuuri glanced at Viktor, who was looking back at Yuuri with an innocent expression, and Yuuri laughed. “Okay, okay. Fine. You’re too cute. It was fine. MBS was targeting his new building, so we basically spent the entire night shifting shit around. And then we crashed around 5.”

Viktor hissed, “ _Ouch._ He’s going to lose all of his executives. Good luck recovering from that.”

The car stopped at a red light, and Yuuri turned to look at Viktor, metal glinting in his eyes. “You are not going to hire them. You understand?” Yuuri ordered, offering no room for argument, “I fixed the problem, and you are _not_ going to undo my hard work.”

Viktor gave him an affronted look, “I’d never. We’re a team, Yuura.”

Yuuri nodded. “As long as you remember that,” Yuuri turned left at the intersection, “So how was Chris?”

With a pained groan, Viktor slumped into his chair, “Too much shopping. He dragged me all over town. My feet feel numb.”

Yuuri laughed, “Buy anything for me?”

-

Phichit didn’t want to bring up the painting. He didn’t want to have to address this weird manipulation cycle he and Seung-Gil kept turning in, but it was also hard to ignore the 20 million dollars hanging on his wall.

Well, it wasn’t so much that it was 20 million dollars, as much as it was a painting from Seung-Gil. It made Phichit antsy just looking at it.

So, no, Phichit didn’t go out of his way to express his gratitude to Seung-Gil, but he did offer a genuine thank-you during their meeting.

“Thank you for the painting. It was nice not to receive twenty million from Viktor,” Phichit smiled, truly feeling grateful.

Though, Phichit did pretty much take forty million from Yuuri that very day, so Seung-Gil didn’t entirely save Phichit’s pride, anyway.

“I wanted to make your day easier,” Seung-Gil answered, offering a charming smile.

Phichit hummed, “It did make my hard day a little easier.”

A corner of the Korean’s lips turned down; Seung-Gil made eye contact with Phichit. “I heard about the building. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Phichit smiled plastically, “It _was_ hard to hear that my billion dollar building was trashed, but I managed it. My main concern was keeping my executives on.”

“And how did you manage that?” Seung-Gil asked.

There was far too much intelligence glittering in the Korean’s eyes for Phichit to feel comfortable. It would have been easy, perhaps, for Phichit to tell Seung-Gil that Yuuri had picked up Phichit’s multi-million dollar slack.

But, not only would Phichit be openly admitting to be committing a felony in Saudi Arabia, he’d also be exposing a weak spot in Yuuri’s company. A weak spot that Phichit had caused.

And no matter how broken his and Yuuri’s relationship was, he still trusted Yuuri much more than he trusted Seung-Gil.

“Magic,” Phichit smiled serenely, “Now, are you still planning on visiting next week? Any allergies I should know about before I choose the restaurant?”

-

Min-So looked out at her apartment, eyes wide. This was the face of someone who had seen war and savagery and ruin.

Min-So was looking at a child.

Specifically, her sister holding Min-So’s nephew with a sheepish smile. The sisters looked rather like mirror opposites, standing in front of each other like this.

Min-So was just back from work. Her grey turtleneck was tucked into a black pencil skirt. A large Louis Vuitton bag was on her shoulder, holding a shit ton of organized paper and her CC laptop. Her hair was unnaturally straight, glossy and black. A silver Rolex flashed from her wrist and a thin silver chain glittered from her neck. A Bluetooth earbud was in her ear and her CC phone was in her hand. She held herself straight, tall, thin, strong shoulders back, feet firm on the ground.

Her sister was dressed in warm pastels, a dress with a large, floaty skirt, a gaudy necklace around her neck, and her hair perfectly curled in natural waves. Her soft hourglass figure was emphasized by a belt at her waist, wide hips and a soft chest from multiple pregnancies. Her child was tucked against her hip; the toddler was asleep and softly cooing against her shoulder. A bodyguard was behind her, silent and watchful, holding her pink Guuci handbag and a pink peacoat for her. Soft. Weak. And looking like the epitome of a rich house wife.

“This- this is your emergency?” Min-So asked, incredulous, “I’m not a baby-sitter, noona.”

Her sister, Ji-Soo, looks at her, sending her a version of Min-So’s own death stare. While Min-So’s was full of sadism, hers was hollow. Min-So enjoyed hurting people. Her sister just didn’t give a shit as long as she got what she wanted.

“My husband is facing a _shit ton_ of lawsuits in China for reasons I’m not going to name. It’s become a bit of a mess, words like treason and lifetime sentences being thrown around. So, I’d prefer my baby not have to come with me when I go to get him out of it,” she explained with a warm smile on her face, bouncing the sleeping child a little.

“I don’t see what that has to do with _me._ I’ll happy send you a lawyer, an army of lawyers. I might even be able to appeal to President Xi himself. That’s my expertise- not child-rearing,” Min-So explained, bite in her voice.

Her sister shrugged, “I don’t really need an army of lawyers. I’m the only one I trust to handle his case anyway-“

“You’ve always been a micromanager-“

“I’m the best lawyer this side of the Pacific and you _know it._ You wouldn’t have used me in that case last Febuary otherwise-”

“You weren’t my first choice-”

“That’s just because your pride is the size of a porn star’s penis.”

“First of all, _disgusting._ Second, my pride isn’t _that big,_ I have-”

“It embarrasses you that your noona likes the color pink, doesn’t it?”

“What? _No-_ ”

“But, _regardless_ , of your feelings about me, on the off-chance things start dipping south, and some… extreme measures have to be taken Se-Hun doesn’t need to be there. He isn’t particularly good with stress. He’s my sensitive little bunny.”

“ _Bunny_?” Min-So repeated, cringing, not needing the reminder of her own childhood nickname.

“He’s got your little bunny smile,” her sister cooed, enjoying Min-So’s embarrassment, “It’s so adorable. Reminds me of when you used to smile.”

“Ah, yes, what I pity I’ve forgotten how,” the PA rolled her eyes.

“I keep forgetting to buy you an instructional manual for Christmas,” her sister teased.

There was a brief pause. Both sisters smiling at each other.

“So,” her sister paused, flicking a curl over her shoulder, “Will you do it?”

“I’m going to New York this weekend.”

“So? Se-Hunie has a passport.”

 “ _Why me?_ You have a _nanny_ , _”_ Min-So asked, exasperated.

Her sister pouted, like the question itself was fundamentally insulting. “He wanted to hang out with you. You’re his aunt, family. He loves you. I asked him who he wanted to watch him, and he immediately said his _imo,_ Min-So, with these big puppy eyes.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t say no?”

Her sister smiled, sharp and with a slight flash of teeth, “Anything my baby wants, he’ll get. Until he can fight for himself, what kind of Mother would I be if I didn’t fight his battles?”

“We aren’t in court.”

“Everythings a fight, dear sister. Look at this, I have to fight with you, just to make you watch your nephew. Do you know how upsetting that is?” she asked, disappointment dripping from her voice.

“I can see what you’re doing,”

“All I’m doing is trying to get you to show some semblance of affection to your nephew. If you loved him at all, you’d be jumping at the opportunity. How long has it been since you’ve seen him last? Se-Hunie might start developing complexes, you don’t want to be responsible for him to have crippling self-worth issues do you?”

“You can stop. I’ll do it. _Jesus,_ ” Min-So muttered.

“Great!” she cheered. Ji-Soo pressed a soft kiss to the sleeping toddler’s hair and then three more, seeming unable to help herself, before slowly, gently transferring the kid into Min-So’s arms.

Min-So carefully, gingerly, warily took the bundled up child, settling him on her hip. The kid was bundled up well, dressed in a cute little button down and khakis, with big pink coat on top, with a pink beanie. No doubt a rough attempt in copying his mother.

“We’ll be back in about two weeks? Give or take. Call me if you have any questions. If you hurt my baby, I’m going to sue you for encouraging opioid addiction in the states,” Ji-Soo threatened, slipping on her peacoat and taking her pink purse back from the body guard.

Min-So winced, knowing the fallout to that would be disastrous, “Noted.”

Ji-Soo looked at Min-So, warm smile on her face, “It was so good to see you, honey.” She pulled Min-So into a hug, and Min-So stayed stiff in her arms, knowing that this wasn’t exactly visit formed from sisterly love. Se-Hun wanted something, and Ji-Soo would do anything to give it to him. That was all this meeting was about.

“Good to see you, too.”

Ji-Soo walked out, her cute, little kitten pumps softly patting against the floor, as her pink peacoat fluttered around her curvy hips. Almost out the door, Ji-Soo stopped, leaning back in with a cheeky smile.

“Hey, Min-So, I wouldn’t mind that little chat with President Xi, if you wouldn’t mind doing me a favor.”

The PA rolled her eyes, doing her best to bounce the kid the way Ji-Soo had been, though the movements were a tad jerky, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Her sister blew an air kiss, and that was it. Park Ji-Soo, world-renowned corporate lawyer, was gone, leaving Min-So with a kid.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH! How was it? Who's the scarier Park sister?
> 
> SEUNG-GIL'S VISIT TO NEW YORK UP NEXT
> 
> Mm. My question... Would we rather see   
> KUDOS more from Min-So (including her love interest???) OR   
> COMMENTS would we rather check in Yuri and Otabek in London?
> 
> Let me know??? I love you guys and I hope you have a great day!!!


End file.
